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BY 


WflRQUlS    OF    LORN€ 


Jfrom  Sbabow  to 
Sunlight 


BY  THE 
MARQUIS  OF  LORNE,  G.C.M.G. 

AUTHOR   OF 
LOVE   AND    PERIL,   A  STORY   OF  THE    FAR  NORTHWEST,    ETC. 


NEW   YORK 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 
1891 


Authorized  Edition. 


FROM  SHADOW  TO  SUNLIGHT. 


CHAPTER   I. 

"  OH,  let  me  see  the  cavern.  Do  take 
me  if  the  weather  be  fine  enough,"  said 
a  beautiful  American  girl,  who  with  her 
father  was  visiting  Europe,  and  had 
found  her  way  to  a  Scotch  country  house, 
after  tasting  of  the  joys  of  the  London 
season.  Her  father  was  a  gentleman 
who  had  been  in  office  in  New  York 
State,  but  had  given  up  public  life  for 
the  leisure  which  he  loved  to  use  for 
travel  and  reading.  As  in  the  case  of 
most  Americans  who  love  literature,  he 
had  at  his  fingers'  ends  most  of  our  great 
authors.  Scott's  novels  had  of  course 
made  him  wish  to  see  Scotland,  and  he 
had  gladly  accepted  for  himself  and 
daughter  an  invitation  given  to  him  by 


4        from  Shaboro  ta  Stmlight. 

the  proprietor  of  some  wild  coast  and 
moorland  on  the  West  of  Ross. 

"Well,"  he  said,  after  his  daughter  had 
spoken,  "  I  am  of  Dr.  Johnson's  opinion 
in  the  matter  of  caves.  There  is  hardly 
one  that  repays  the  trouble  of  a  scramble 
down  into  their  gloomy  passages.  Even 
in  the  Kentucky  Mammoth  Cave  or  those 
of  Virginia  I  have  been  very  glad  to  es- 
cape from  the  underground  corridors  and 
holes,  although  they  are  filled  with  ex- 
quisite and  elegant  stalactitic  forms,  and 
to  leave  them  all  behind,  again  to  emerge 
and  breathe  the  free  air  of  heaven." 

"Yes,  sir,  you  are  right  with  dear  old 
Sam  Johnson,"  said  the  old  laird  who 
venerated  the  great  Sam,  his  dictionary 
and  everything  that  he  had  ever  written, 
with  the  reverence  often  shown  by  a  sim- 
ple-minded gentleman  for  a  literary  bear ; 
"  but  Sam  Johnson  himself  was  much 
pleased  with  a  cave  on  a  neighboring 
coast  not  unlike  that  one  which  I  desire 


from  Qhaboro  10  Sunlight.        5 

to  show  to  you  to-day.  You  will  here  ex- 
perience none  of  the  unpleasant  sensa- 
tions of  being  in  a  hole  underground,  for 
you  will  be  able  to  see  the  ocean  from  a 
great  part  of  the  interior,  and  light  com- 
ing from  the  sea  even  in  its  largest  hall, 
though  not  beyond  that." 

"  If  you  and  my  daughter  unite  your 
forces,  I  yield  with  the  best  grace,"  and 
so  the  matter  was  settled  to  the  young 
lady's  great  delight.  She  had  much  en- 
joyed her  "  good  time  "  in  England,  and 
was  prepared  to  be  as  enthusiastic  about 
Highland  scenery  as  she  had  been  about 
Westminster  Abbey.  She  liked  the  free- 
dom of  life  in  the  country  house,  where 
two  or  three  of  the  bachelors  were  already 
devoted  to  her,  and  willing  even  to  forego 
a  day's  grouse  shooting  or  stalking  to 
take  part  in  any  expedition  she  might  in- 
dicate as  agreeable  to  her  somewhat  way- 
ward fancy.  She  had  charmed  the  old 
laird  by  insisting  on  playing  chess  of  an 


6        from  0ha&onj  to  Stmligljt. 

evening  with  him.  He  was  a  venerable 
ancient  who  looked  antique  enough  to 
have  drawn  a  sword  for  Prince  Charles, 
and  whose  memory  was  well  stored  with 
the  legends  of  the  neighborhood  where  he 
now  spent  his  last  years,  after  a  long  serv- 
ice in  the  army.  It  was  a  very  pretty 
sight  to  see  the  tournaments  in  which  he 
engaged  at  chess  with  Mary  Wincott.  His 
strategy  was  by  no  means  so  good  as  we 
may  hope  it  had  been  in  the  days  of  his 
military  youth.  Perhaps  he  thought  more 
of  his  opponent  than  was  quite  compati- 
ble with  the  confidence  in  his  own  powers, 
which  is  so  necessary  an  element  of  vic- 
tory. It  was  certainly  wonderful  to  see 
how  much  surprised  he  appeared  to  be 
when  the  flashing  eyes  and  pearly  teeth 
shone  for  a  moment  between  the  lovely 
lips  opposite  to  him,  laughed  in  his  face, 
and  "  Check  Queen ! "  rang  from  the 
round  throat  of  "  little  Miss  Mary,"  as  he 
called  her.  His  tall  frame,  bowed  with 


from  Seaborn  to  Sunlight.        7 

years,  and  clothed  in  a  handsome  dress- 
ing-gown, below  which  he  wore  a  long 
crimson  velvet  waistcoat,  would  stretch 
forward,  and  then  the  fine  old  head,  with 
the  white  locks  brushed  carefully  forward 
in  the  old  style,  the  fine  curve  of  the 
prominent  nose,  and  white  mustache  and 
beard,  would  bend  over  the  board,  and 
then  look  gravely  up  into  Mary  Wincott's 
face,  and  he  would  say : 

"By  George,  I  believe  you've  got  me 
this  time ! "  and  she,  with  a  wealth  of 
darkened,  cloudy  locks,  shaken  back  from 
her  straight  and  splendid  brows,  would 
let  the  starlight  of  her  great  blue  eyes 
illume  her  perfectly  molded  and  happy 
countenance,  and  then  she  would  sweetly 
say: 

"  Never  mind,  Colonel  McLain,  you 
will  win  next  time." 

Yes,  indeed,  it  was  a  sight  well  worth 
seeing  when  the  head  of  the  old  man  and 
the  head  of  the  girl  were  bent  toward 


8        from  Shaboro  to  Sunlight. 

each  other  in  that  joyous  antagonism, 
which  made  both,  first  so  serious  and  then 
so  merry,  as  they  exchanged  gracious  lit- 
tle courtesies  on  the  result  of  the  game. 
To  be  sure,  the  combat  generally  ended 
one  way  only,  and  Beauty  prevailed  as 
usual  over  Valor;  but  Valor's  chivalry 
made  glorious  his  defeat,  and  Beauty's 
gracious,  smiles  and  condolence  made 
beautiful  her  victory.  An  artist  who  was 
one  of  the  party  staying  at  the  house 
made  sketches  of  the  pair  so  engaged; 
but  he  never  produced  anything  worthy 
of  his  theme,  and  the  subject  remains  one 
which,  if  well  rendered,  would  make  the 
fortune  of  a  painter  equal  to  the  task. 

"  Miss  Mary,  you  don't  mean  to  say 
you  wish  to  scramble  over  all  those  rocks 
that  guard  the  cave's  mouth  ? " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  I  do,  Colonel,  if  your  son 
will  allow  me  :  for  although  we  don't 
walk  so  much  in  America  as  English  girls 
do  here,  yet  it  seems  to  me  that  your  cli- 


from  Shabmn  to  Stmlight.         9 

mate  makes  walking  pleasant,  for  it  is 
never  either  too  hot  or  too  cold." 

"  Well,  I  hope  they  will  take  good  care 
of  you,"  said  the  old  man ;  and  one  of  the 
young  guests  forthwith  exclaimed  that  if 
Miss  Mary  let  him,  he  would  answer  for 
it  that  she  would  "  not  come  to  grief." 

"  You  see  I  shall  have  plenty  of  guides 
and  guards,"  she  answered,  laughing. 
"  But  is  the  way  there  so  very  difficult  ? " 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  McLain,  "this  cave, 
and  others  near  it,  have  been  used  by 
smugglers  even  in  quite  recent  times,  be- 
cause it  is  difficult  to  get  at  them.  I  be- 
lieve that  very  many  gallons  of  excellent 
whisky  have,  even  within  the  last  twenty- 
five  years,  been  brought  out  of  that  place. 
During  the  winter  gales,  when  a  strong 
wind  is  beating  the  surf  in  from  the  west, 
and  the  great  swelling  rollers  of  the  At- 
lantic are  hurled  against  the  cliffs,  no 
Revenue  vessel  can  approach ;  and  from 
the  landward  side  it  is  always  easy  for 


io       from  0hab0u)  to  Sunlight. 

the  smugglers,  or  rather  the  lawless  whis- 
ky brewers,  to  watch  the  few  paths  over 
the  moorlands,  so  as  to  give  notice  of  any 
person's  approach.  If  strangers  are  in  the 
district  it  is  soon  known,  and  when  there 
are  none  to  landward  these  robbers  of 
Her  Majesty's  Excise  chest  can  be  quite 
sure  that  '  the  coast  is  clear,'  for  no  vessel 
could  at  such  time  approach  the  shore. 
Then  descending  the  cliff  and  skirting  the 
boiling  surf,  which  at  flood-tide,  or  even 
half-tide,  effectually  shuts  out  all  prying 
eyes  even  in  fine  weather,  the  smugglers 
can  go  securely  to  work  and  get  a  lot  of 
work  done  before  morning,  when  the  tide 
having  turned  to  ebb  they  can  carry  out 
their  stuff,  concealing  it  among  the  rocks 
until  it  be  safe  for  one  of  their  boats  to 
take  it  away  by  water,  or  until  it  can  be 
carried  inland." 

"  Why,  how  romantic  !  "  cried  Miss 
Mary. 

"Yes,"  said  McLain.     "You  can't  im- 


.from  Shaboto  10  Sunlight,       n 

agine  a  sight  more  weird  than  a  high  tide 
on  such  a  night,  a  moon  silvering  the 
mighty  surge  as  it  lifts  itself  to  break  in 
foam  and  send  its  hollow  roar  far  along 
the  rocks  and  into  the  great  caves.  A 
baffled  Government  vessel  may  be  stand- 
ing perhaps  off  and  on  outside  as  a  phan- 
tom in  the  gray  of  the  further  ocean. 
And  within  the  arched  vaults  of  the  cav- 
ern you  may  fancy  the  busy  figures  of 
the  smugglers  crossing  and  recrossing  the 
sandy  floor  of  the  immense  grotto,  their 
fires  rapidly  distilling  the  '  dew,'  knowing 
that  for  many  hours  their  retreat  is  sealed 
from  any  human  eye,  for  no  sign  of  their 
work  by  light  or  sound  can  be  seen  or 
heard  from  without.  They  make  the  best 
of  the  time,  and  labor  hard  through  all 
the  night  hours,  so  that  by  the  morning 
there  may  be  something  '  well  worth  the 
drinking.'  As  the  firelight  flickers  on  the 
rough  and  curving  walls  and  the  sea  winds 
move  the  ferns  that  hang  in  plume-like 


12       from  Shaboto  ta  Sunlight. 

groups  from  the  ledges,  and  the  smoke 
from  the  secret  stills  floats  over  the  half- 
illuminated  scene,  one  might  imagine  that 
preparations  were  being  made  for  deeds 
far  more  evil  and  mysterious  than  the 
making  of  a  few  wholesome  'nightcaps' 
for  old  men  like  my  father  there.  It  al- 
ways seems  to  me  that  the  punishment 
for  such  work  is  even  now  far  too  heavy, 
though  it  is  nothing  to  what  it  was  in  the 
old  days  when  to  see  a  smuggler  was  to 
fire  at  him  '  straightaway.'  " 

"  If  you  go,  mind  you,  bring  me  back 
some  whisky  for  a  nightcap,"  said  old 
Colonel  McLain,  "  but  you'll  have  to  start 
early.  Had  we  not  better  be  thinking 
about  our  beds  now  ? " 

Thus  the  happy  party  began  to  break 
up,  as  the  ladies  wished  good-night  to  the 
gentlemen ;  but  to  these  a  cigar  with 
more  talk  seemed  indispensable,  and  they 
begged  the  aged  Colonel  not  to  retire  so 
soon,  but  to  give  them  for  a  little  while 


.from  &hub0to  10  Stmlight.       13 

longer  the  benefit  of  his  presence  and  con- 
versation. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  I  am  too  old.  I  will 
leave  you  now,  gentlemen."  But  his  good 
nature  was  not  proof  to  their  entreaties, 
and  he  was  wheeled  near  the  fire,  where 
he  declared  it  was  a  shameful  dissipation 
on  his  part  to  remain  up  so  late,  saying 
he  was  nearly  eighty  years  of  age.  They 
declared  that  this  could  not  be,  and  that 
he  was  younger  in  mind  than  any  of 
them. 

"  I  began  to  get  old  when  most  of  you 
were  not  born,  and  my  hair  was  gray 
when  you  were  babes,  although  there  is 
none  now." 

"  I  wish  I  had  as  much  still  on  my 
head,"  said  a  very  bald  young  man  of 
forty.  "  I've  tried  to  prevent  it  going, 
and  concealed  the  alarming  deficiency 
by  putting  it  over  the  bare  places,  but  it 
was  all  of  no  use."  He  quoted  the  epi- 
gram: 


14       from  QhabotD  to  Sunlight. 

"  Our  hair,  when  youth's  before  us,  see 

Brushed  back.     Life's  ours,  we  laugh  ! 
When  forward  brushed,  be  certain  we 
Look  back  on  more  than  half ! " 

"You  are  too  kind  to  an  old  man," 
smiled  the  Colonel.  "  But  it  is  not  long 
since  that  an  excursion  like  that  you  will 
make  to-morrow  would  have  delighted 
me.  Long  as  my  days  have  been,  how- 
ever, I  have  never  seen  reason  to  believe 
in  any  of  the  bogies  said  to  haunt  men  in 
caverns  or  elsewhere."  He  declared  that 
although  he  had  heard  of  such  in  the 
underground  places  near  this,  he  had  not 
thought  of  this  matter  at  all,  so  lightly 
did  he  regard  the  legends  and  supersti- 
tions of  the  people.  Who  did  not  know 
that  in  every  big  hole  in  the  ground 
throughout  all  Celtic  Scotland  and  all 
Celtic  Ireland  there  was  either  a  mysteri- 
ous piper  or  a  strange  harper  ?  Who  has 
not  heard  of  the  piping  or  harping  in  the 
dimmest  corners,  of  musicians  who  retired 


from  Shabcto  la  Stmlight.       15 

as  mortals  entered  their  haunts,  and 
marched  away  playing  their  melodies 
until  they  went  too  far  away  into  the 
roots  of  the  mountains  to  be  heard  any 
more  ?  "  Nobody  but  a  fool  would  repeat 
such  blethers,"  and  he  would  be  ashamed 
of  any  one  who  did  so. 

Miss  Mary  certainly  would  not  have 
her  pleasant  dreams  of  her  excursion  on 
the  morrow  dashed  with  any  subterranean 
nightmares — and  she  fell  to  sleep  think- 
ing, like  a  fanciful  child,  as  in  truth  she 
was,  of  the  enchantment  of  entering  the 
nether  world,  which  was  one  not  of  awe 
and  darkness  to  her  mind,  but  an  illu- 
mined and  endless  procession  of  fairies, 
who  carried  miniature  torches  in  such 
numbers  that  the  place  wherein  they 
moved  sparkled  like  a  huge  diamond  cor- 
uscation. Each  pendent  form  and  mossy 
ledge  near  the  entrance  of  such  abodes 
were  but  resting-places  for  the  pygmies 
that  must  come,  bearing  deeply  interest- 


16       from  Sljaboro  to  Stmligljt. 

ing  messages  to  the  little  inhabitants  from 
others  in  like  fortunate  dwellings  in  far- 
off  lands.  It  seemed  probable  that  such 
messages  took  the  love  and  state  missives 
with  greater  speed,  and  by  the  shorter 
routes  of  the  upper  air,  than  could  the 
sprites,  who  might  communicate  with  dis- 
tant places  through  the  earth  passages, 
which  surely  must  exist.  The  rock-dove's 
wing  traveled  faster  than  could  the  little 
legs  of  the  mountain  elves,  however  strong 
these  last  might  be,  who  acted  no  doubt 
as  carriers  for  the  little  fairies,  whose  dig- 
nity could  not  allow  them  to  do  more  than 
bear  lights  and  hold  councils. 

With  such  delicious  dreams  Mary  fell 
asleep,  all  eagerness  for  the  excursion  of 
the  morrow.  But  the  younger  McLain, 
although  he  said  nothing  of  the  things  he 
had  heard  in  regard  to  the  spot  they  were 
to  visit,  would  not  have  laughed  at  the 
report  that  had  reached  his  ears.  It 
might  be  true  that  it  had  been  the  inter- 


from  Shadow  to  Sunlight.       17 

est  of  smugglers  to  make  the  superstitious 
people  about  them  believe  the  place  to 
be  haunted.  That  they  did  so  there  could 
be  no  doubt.  But  he  had  once  himself 
seen  something  there  which  he  could  not 
explain,  except  upon  the  general  supposi- 
tion that  things  were  visible  to  him  which 
were  not  visible  to  others.  Yet  he  did 
not  like  to  think  himself  gifted  in  any 
unusual  way.  Every  circumstance  that 
had  made  him  suspect  himself  to  be  so 
had  been  most  unwelcome  to  him,  and  he 
tried  to  drive  away  the  very  thought. 
The  curious  thing  was  that  the  smugglers 
themselves  were  said  to  be  so  suspicious 
of  what  they  called  their  workshop  that 
they  did  not  like  to  go  there  except  in 
bands  of  some  strength,  and  not  one  of 
them  would  have  ventured,  at  least  so  it 
was  said,  to  sleep  there  alone.  He  said 
nothing,  knowing  that  the  result  of  say- 
ing something  would  be  either  that  he 
would  be  "  chaffed  "  by  others  or  that  he 


1 8       .from  Shabouj  to  Sunlight. 

would  make  them  uncomfortable.  As  it 
was,  one  of  his  friends  had  already  told 
him  that  he  considered  him  to  be  uncanny. 
There  was  little  wonder  at  the  friend's 
opinion.  This  is  what  had  happened. 
The  friend  and  McLain  were  sitting  to- 
gether, one  windy  day  in  the  summer,  in 
the  house  where  the  present  party  had 
assembled.  McLain  had  been  half  doz- 
ing, for  the  weather  was  hot,  and  his  com- 
panion was  reading  a  newspaper,  when 
suddenly,  "  without  rhyme  or  reason,"  as 
the  phrase  goes,  McLain  started  up,  rushed 
in  great  agitation  to  the  window,  and 
shouted,  as  though  to  an  imaginary  crew : 
"  Down  with  the  sails,  down  with  them, 
down  —  d'ye  hear?  down,  down  with 
them ! "  and  then,  after  a  breathless 
pause,  with  the  utmost  distress  of  voice, 

"  By !  she's  gone !  "  and  then,  when 

his  companion  looked  at  him  in  amaze- 
ment, he  was  still  all  trembling.  I  could 
only  say  that  he  thought  he  must  have 


from  Shabou)  ta  Sunlight.       19 

been  dreaming,  but  he  had  seen  a  ship  go 
down  in  a  squall.  And  sure  enough,  not 
so  far  from  where  they  were,  but  far  out 
of  sight  of  any  mortal  eyes  looking  from 
that  house,  a  ship  had  thus  sunk.  Yet 
McLain  knew  naught  of  this  vessel.  It 
was  nothing  to  him.  He  knew  none  on 
board,  and  only  saw  the  vision. 


CHAPTER   II. 

"  O  MY,  I  wish  you  were  coming  also, 
Colonel,"  said  Miss  Mary  on  the  follow- 
ing morning,  when  after  breakfast  she 
went  to  see  the  old  man  in  his  room. 

"Well,  I  wish  I  were,  by  Mary,"  he 
said,  and  continued,  "  You  see  that  I  can 
use  an  old  oath  or  affirmation,  Miss  Mary, 
as  you  do,  and  I  like  to  use  it  with  your 
pretty  name." 

"  How  ?  I  use  an  oath !  My  !  Colonel, 
what  are  you  saying  now  ? " 

"It  is  as  I  say,"  replied  the  old  man 
with  a  smile,  "  when  you  say  '  O  my,'  you 
use  the  old  oath  or  form  of  invocation 
'O  Mary,'  shortened  into  'O  M'y.'  It 
used  to  be  considered  enough  in  these 
parts  in  the  old  Catholic  days,  but  now  it 


.from  Sha&ow  to  Stmlight.       21 

is  a  pretty  exclamation,  more  honored  in 
America  than  here." 

"Well,  I  never  knew  that,"  laughed  the 
girl.  "  Fancy  that  I  should  have  to  come 
all  this  way  to  know  the  meaning  of  an 
expression  I  have  heard  used  all  my  life. 
O  my !  How  odd !  " 

"  Well,  if  you  check  my  Queen,  I  didn't 
want  to  check  your  '  O  Mary,'  Miss 
Mary,"  and  away  she  went  to  complete 
her  preparations  for  the  expedition. 

It  was  a  long  drive,  but  greatly  to  be 
enjoyed.  The  house  in  which  they  had 
met  was  situated  near  the  sea  and  at  the 
mouth  of  a  wide  glen  flanked  by  towering 
hills,  various  in  form  and  covered  on  their 
lower  slopes  with  oak  and  hazel  copse, 
and  above  the  natural  wood  with  heath 
that  shone  purple  as  the  bloom  on  the 
serried  ranks  of  the  plants  caught  the 
eye.  The  color  of  the  hills  was  also  re- 
markable, for  red  rocks  made  the  morn- 
ing and  evening  sunlight  seem  almost  un- 


22        .from  51)  afc DUO  to  Sunlight. 

naturally  ardent  in  hue,  while  on  the 
scarred  and  broken  crests  above  a  white 
rock  gleamed  snowlike  on  the  summits  of 
the  highest  hills.  Mary,  an  artist  by  na- 
ture and  by  practice,  was  enchanted  with 
the  beauty  of  this  coloring,  and  asked : 

"  How  is  it  that  the  rocks  up  there  look 
almost  like  snow,  they  are  so  white,  while 
all  around  are  the  brown  and  purple  or 
darker  tints,  and  it  is  only  white  there 
against  the  sky  ?  It  looks  as  if  a  little  of 
that  foam  that  fringes  the  blue  of  the  sea 
where  it  breaks  quietly  on  the  rocks  of 
the  shore  had  been  by  some  mysterious 
agency  floated  away  up  to  the  tops  of  the 
mountains." 

"  Yes,"  answered  young  McLain,  "  that 
is  one  of  the  curiosities  of  this  part  of  the 
world,  and  it  is  the  result  of  the  work 
both  of  the  sea  and  of  fire  or  great  earth 
upheavals.  All  that  white  stuff  that  you 
see  two  or  three  thousand  feet  above  our 
heads  lay  once  on  the  ocean  sands,  and, 


.from  Shabow  to  Sunlight.       23 

with  the  wonderful  alchemy  of  the  salt 
depths,  or  it  may  be  after  the  water  had 
been  drained  away  and  the  surface  raised, 
the  earth  and  sand  became  like  flint,  hard- 
ened and  whitened  by  the  quartz  so  that 
each  little  grain  of  sand  looked  twice  his 
age  because  blanched  and  fixed  to  the 
next  grain.  And  among  these  grains  the 
sea-worms  had  worked,  and  one  can  see 
the  channel  each  creature  made.  There 
they  are  in  millions,  filled  in  with  quartz- 
ite  stuff,  but  plainly  apparent.  The  old 
sea  floor  with  all  its  teeming  life  pilloried 
for  ever  and  lifted  high  into  heaven's 
face." 

"Well,  that's  a  very  grand  but  very  ter- 
rible idea,  to  have  had  such  upturnings  of 
the  earth,"  said  Mary,  thoughtfully,  "  and 
.you  have  nothing  now  in  the  way  of  vol- 
canoes nearer  than  Iceland,  have  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  McLain  answered,  "  but  all  the 
neighboring  country  to  the  south  of  us  is 
covered  with  traps  and  basalt  and  every 


24       .from  Shaboto  la  Smtiight. 

evidence  of  fearful  volcanic  eruption. 
Underneath  their  crust  of  lava  you  some- 
times find  the  leaves  and  stems  of  the 
plants  that  were  buried  by  the  fiery  fluid 
or  shower  of  hot  ash.  There  must  have 
been  beautiful  lakes  surrounded  by  trees 
like  those  now  growing  in  Japan,  for  we 
find  them  imbedded  in  mud,  now  turned  to 
sandstone  and  hardened  clay — preserved 
so  that  you  can  trace  each  tendril  and 
leaf  nerve,  each  delicate  edge  and  vein 
network,  saved  from  the  crushing  of  the 
superincumbent  mass  of  lava,  by  the 
friendly  silt  of  the  quiet  pool  into  which 
they  had  fluttered  down  from  the  trees 
they  had  once  covered." 

Mary  looked  up  with  deep  respect  in 
her  fresh  blue  eyes  to  the  cliffs  and  abrupt 
rocks  along  the  shore,  the  lovely  lines  of 
her  eyebrows  rising  in  a  gentle  curve  of 
wonder  at  what  she  heard,  and  the  dusky 
rose  tints  of  her  cheek  deepening  with  the 
interest  of  the  revelation  of  an  age  far 


from  ShabotD  io  Btmlight.       25 

older  than  the  dimmest  and  darkest,  and 
most  distant  she  had  ventured  to  imagine. 
The  road  as  they  traveled  on  became 
wilder  and  wilder,  now  skirting  some  deep 
bay  on  a  ledge  so  immediately  overhang- 
ing the  sea,  that  from  the  carriage  they 
could  look  down  into  the  depths  of  green 
gray  crystal,  where  often  a  lobster  trap 
set  floating  on  the  tide,  could  be  seen ;  or 
the  more  graceful  forms  of  cormorant, 
seamew,  and  even  Sheldrake  and  Eider 
Duck  be  for  a  moment  discovered  around 
some  rocky  promontory,  before  the  birds 
took  wing  or  dived  to  avoid  the  dangers 
of  Mary's  eyes.  How  often  she  had  pitied 
the  poor  eider  duck,  when  as  a  child  she 
had  been  told  that  men  took  their  feathers 
and  soft  down  to  make  into  pillows  and 
quilts !  And  here  were  the  actual  birds, 
as  she  fancied  !  No,  they  could  not  be  the 
same,  for  they  had  evidently  plenty  of 
feathers  remaining,  and  there  were  the 
horrid  young  men  of  the  party,  one  in  her 


26       from  0habow  ta  Sunlight. 

carriage,  and  others  in  the  next,  "  dying  " 
as  they  said  "to  have  a  shot  at  those 
fellows,"  and  she  devoutly  hoped  they 
would  have  nothing  of  the  kind.  When 
the  carriage  way  ran  along  these  terraces 
she  would  look  with  awe  at  the  precipi- 
tous masses  that  arose  wall-like  on  the 
land  side,  leaving  often  but  just  room  for 
the  wheels  to  find  safety  on  the  narrow 
space  left  at  their  foot,  and  then  she 
would  breathe  more  freely  when  the  rock 
walls  retired  a  little  inland,  so  that  a 
steep  turf  slope  intervened  between  her- 
self and  them,  and  it  was  not  so  evident 
as  it  seemed  a  minute  or  two  before,  that 
a  piece  of  the  cliff,  loosened  by  winter 
frosts  or  summer  rains,  would,  if  it  broke 
off  and  descended,  crush  them  all  to 
atoms. 

The  driver  had  delighted  to  point 
out  places  where  huge  masses  had  come 
off  the  cliff  face,  and,  thundering  down, 
had  demolished  a  portion  of  the  road  be- 


-from  SI)abotD  to  gmtligljt.       27 

neath.  He  had  had  a  narrow  escape  him- 
self once,  he  declared,  and  his  horse  could 
afterward  hardly  be  persuaded  to  traverse 
the  dangerous  passage,  and  even  now  was 
all  of  a  shake  when  he  approached  it. 
The  driver  evidently  wanted  to  make  a 
hero  of  himself  and  his  horse,  but  still  it 
was  a  relief  not  to  be  obliged  to  keep  an 
eye  in  the  air  and  one  on  the  water,  and 
to  feel  free  to  keep  both  for  the  view  of 
the  sparkling  Atlantic,  as  it  came  flowing 
in  between  islet  after  islet  to  caress  the 
shore,  which  had  for  countless  years  bid- 
den it  at  once  a  welcome  and  a  defiance. 
And  there  where  the  beach  was  more 
shelving,  great  beds  of  the  magnificent 
Laminaria  could  be  observed,  making 
purple  the  blue  of  the  water,  where  the 
waving  fronds  of  sea  tangle  remained 
covered,  or  where  the  tide  had  left  them, 
the  broad  brown  banners  lying  piled  to- 
gether, with  their  array  of  colored  folds 
glistening  in  the  sunlight.  There,  next  to 


28       ,£rom  Shaboro  to  Sunlight. 

the  green  of  the  grass,  made  more  vivid  by 
contrast  with  the  gray  and  lichen-grown 
bowlders,  was  the  bright  yellow  band  of 
the  shoreweed — sometimes  showing  also  a 
tawny  red — to  set  off  the  laughing  azure  of 
the  calm  deep  beyond.  Where  the  group  of 
flat  topped  rocks  showed  above  the  flood, 
what  round  heads  were  there  which  kept 
swimming  about,  as  if  a  boat's  crew  had 
been  shipwrecked,  and  had  rather  enjoyed 
the  sensation,  determining  to  make  the 
most  of  their  luck  in  being  cast  away  on 
such  a  charming  coast,  and  still  desirous 
of  contemplating  its  charms  from  a  little 
distance,  and  so  seemed  to  be  amusing 
themselves  for  some  time  longer  in  the 
water  before  coming  to  shore  ?  No,  they 
could  not  be  men,  for  they  went  down  too 
often,  and  reappeared  at  places  a  diver 
could  not  reach.  No,  they  were  seals; 
and  presently  one  came  up  close  to  the 
shore,  looked  with  round  black  eyes 
solemnly  at  the  carriage,  and  then  shut 


from  Sha&oto  ta  Sunlight.       29 

its  nostrils  and  sank  slowly  down,  the  pug 
nose  disappearing  the  very  last,  and  then 
his  native  curiosity  being  unsatisfied  he 
came  up  again,  and  not  content  with  giv- 
ing a  wink  with  one  of  his  eyes,  he  raised 
himself  breast  high,  to  have  a  long  stare. 

One  of  the  party  said  "  I  killed  two  of 
them  the  other  day,  and  have  ordered 
several  specimens  of  their  skins." 

Mary  gave  the  speaker  such  a  look  of 
horror  and  disgust  that  he  wished  he  had 
bitten  his  lips  through  before  he  had 
made  such  an  avowal,  and  heard  her  in- 
dignant— 

"  Well,  I  think  the  man  that  can  shoot 
those  harmless  and  beautiful  things  de- 
serves to  have  the  fire  returned  by  the 
friends  of  outraged  innocence." 

"  Oh,  but,  Miss  Mary,"  pleaded  the  pec- 
cant sportsman,  "  indeed,  indeed,  they 
aren't  such  guileless  things  as  you  imag- 
ine. They  play  the  devil  with  the  salmon, 
and  I  myself  have  seen  one  of  them  pass 


30       from  Seaborn  to  Snnligfjt. 

under  my  boat  in  hot  pursuit  of  a  poor 
salmon,  who  deserved  your  pity,  when  I 
lay  on  my  oars  floating  in  shallow  water." 

Miss  Mary  did  not  look  convinced,  and 
would  only  vouchsafe,  "  Well,  they  are 
worth  any  number  of  salmon ;  of  that  I 
am  sure." 

Turning  a  headland  which  sheltered  a 
long  fiord,  or  loch,  from  the  outer  ocean, 
they  came  in  sight  of  the  rocky  islands 
of  the  Hebrides,  which  with  great  variety 
of  form  lay  out  to  sea  at  distances  vary- 
ing as  much  as  did  the  shapes  they  pre- 
sented to  the  eye.  The  largest  had  hills 
of  considerable  height  and  of  picturesque 
ruggedness  of  outline,  which  here  seemed 
as  though  terraced  by  the  hand  of  man, 
so  regular  were  the  flats  which  terminated 
in  abrupt  precipices,  like  huge  steps  set 
in  the  silver  sea.  Mary  had  seen  the 
fairy  isles  of  Capri  and  Ischia  that  lie  off 
Naples,  but  she  did  not  miss  the  won- 
drous rose  tints  which  so  often  mantle 


.from  Shaooro  to  Sunlight.       31 

them,  as  she  gazed  at  these  northern  isles. 
They  had  a  beauty  of  coloring  all  their 
own,  and  she  did  not  feel  tempted  to 
make  comparisons.  She  had  seen  (for 
what  does  a  young  American  not  see  now- 
adays ?)  those  last  and  largest  of  the  isles 
of  the  Archipelago  of  the  Adriatic,  the 
little  ocean  realms  of  Corfu  and  Zante, 
the  "  flowers  of  the  Levant,"  lift  their 
sloping  sides  and  olive-crowned  heights 
over  the  straits  which  are  guarded  on  the 
Turkish  shore  by  the  long  line  of  the  Al- 
banian Highlands.  If  she  had  compared 
what  she  now  looked  upon  with  those 
scenes  of  the  East,  she  might  perhaps 
have  regretted  that  here  the  softness  and 
charm  that  comes  alone  with  wavy  woods 
was  absent,  and  she  did  indeed  say  to 
young  McLain : 

"I  hear  of  deer  forests  in  the  island, 
but  these  must  be  away  inland  ? " 

He  told  her  that  the  use  of  the  word 
"  forest "  dates  from  a  long  way  back  in 


32       from  Shaboro  to  Sunlight. 

the  history  of  this  country,  when  a  natural 
growth  of  oak  and  fir  and  smaller  trees 
covered  the  land. 

"  There  are  bits,"  he  said,  "  of  the  old 
Scots  fir  forests  left,  but  they  are  chiefly 
in  rather  inaccessible  places  where  the 
wants  of  the  needy  and  scanty  population 
of  old  Scotland  did  not  tempt  their  de- 
struction. Wherever  there  were  people 
crowded  in  their  poverty  and  cold  in  the 
valleys,  there  the  woods  disappeared, 
gradually  cut  down  for  the  fires  in  the 
huts  of  the  natives  or  burned  by  careless- 
ness. It  is  astonishing  how  a  fire  will 
run  during  a  hot  summer.  You  would 
imagine  that  the  trees  would  have  been 
too  green  and  wet  here.  But  this  is  not 
the  case,  and  in  a  dry  season  I  have 
known  a  whole  hill-side  of  nice  wood 
burned  up  by  the  careless  leaving  of  a 
fire  lit  to  amuse  a  picnic  party.  '  Wooded 
Caledon '  the  Romans  called  Scotland, 
and  wherever  you  cut  a  peat  from  the 


from  ShabotD  to  Sunlight.       33 

mosses,  or  drain  these,  you  will  see  the 
roots  of  trees,  sometimes  of  large  oaks. 
I  have  got  excellent  pieces  of  bog  oak 
cut  from  large  trunks  found  deeply  im- 
bedded in  the  peat.  They  are  very 
heavy,  these  fallen  and  sunken  trees,  to 
drag  out,  for  they  are  quite  water-logged. 
One  must  cut  trenches  round  them,  and 
let  the  wood  dry  slowly  before  it  is  used, 
otherwise  it  all  goes  into  splinters,  and  is 
useless  for  ornament  or  furniture  making. 
The  color  is  a  capital  blue-black,  and  if 
you  want  to  be  sure  of  a  bit  keeping  quite 
sound  for  carving  purposes,  the  best  plan 
is  to  keep  it  for  a  month  or  more  in  warm 
water,  so  that  the  cold  water  gets  driven 
out  of  it,  and  then  to  keep  it  for  some 
weeks  in  a  mixture  of  glue  and  warm 
water,  when  the  glue  is  carried  into  the 
heart  of  the  wood  and  solidifies  it,  making 
it  quite  firm  enough  for  any  delicate  chis- 
eling." 

Miss  Mary  told  him  she  had  once  seen 
3 


34       .from  Shabonj  to  Sunlight. 

a  spring  in  America  that  was  so  full  of 
flinty  stuff  that  any  wood  put  into  it  be- 
came like  agate  in  a  short  time. 

"Ah,  we  can't  match  America  in  any- 
thing, Miss  Wincott." 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  you  do,"  she  replied 
warmly.  "  In  the  old  memories  you  have 
delights  for  the  mind  we  have  not  got, 
and  then  the  color  here  of  the  sun, 
glimpses  seen  among  white  mists,  and 
the  purple  and  dark  blue  shadows,  and 
the  exquisitely  soft  and  tender  greens  are 
things  we  find  new  to  us." 

Now  before  them,  as  they  drove  along, 
the  great  cliff  receded  inland,  and  on  the 
slanting  ledges,  a  mile  or  so  wide,  was 
luxuriant  pasture,  so  that  they  looked 
over  the  sward  to  where  it  fell  to  the 
water,  that  flashed  in  little  lines  and  spots 
and  points  of  light.  These  verdant  slopes, 
wherever  they  were  steepest,  had  marks 
of  old  dikes  or  rough  walls  intersecting 
them  in  every  direction.  They  were  the 


from  Shaboro  10  Snnligljt.       35 


marks  of  the  ancient  divisions,  and  very 
minute  divisions  many  of  them  seemed, 
between  the  old  croft  lands,  and  they 
extended  from  the  cliff  of  the  sea  to  the 
foot  of  a  high  wall  of  mountain,  which 
must  have  sheltered  their  owners  from 
the  eastern  blasts  of  winter.  There  were 
half-a-dozen  nicely-built  new  cottages 
along  the  road,  and  a  large,  white  farm- 
house among  the  green  patches  of  the 
old  crofter  cultivation.  Large  numbers 
of  sheep  could  be  seen  on  the  hill-sides, 
and  a  fine  herd  of  cattle  below  wandered 
at  will,  feeding  on  the  rich  grasses. 

"  Oh,  what  a  place  to  live  in ! "  ex- 
claimed Mary.  "  Rather  lonely,  perhaps ; 
but  with  a  friend  or  two,  and  the  sea  to 
cheer  one,  that  wouldn't  matter — for  a 
time,"  she  added,  as  if  doubtful  how  far 
her  exclamation  might  be  taken  as  a  real 
wish,  and  she  might  be  left  to  enjoy  the 
solitude. 

"  Well,"  said  McLain,  "  the  people  must 


36       .from  Shaoouj  to  Sunlight. 

have  been  cheerful  enough  here  at  one 
time,  and  those  that  live  in  the  houses 
you  see  get  enough  to  eat,  and  are  for- 
tunate. But  in  the  old  days  it  was  not 
so,  and  the  sheep  were  poor  and  small. 
No  drainage  system  was  known,  so  that 
it  was  only  where  the  rains  fell  off  the 
land  by  reason  of  its  steepness  that  culti- 
vation was  possible.  The  land  was  tilled 
by  a  hand  plow.  A  century  ago  there 
were  about  forty  to  fifty  souls  living  here. 
Then  the  potato  was  introduced  from  the 
south,  where  it  had  long  been  known. 
It  was  got,  as  you  know,  from  your  coun- 
try. Well,  the  potato  acted,  'strangely 
enough,  as  an  ambassador  to  ask  the  peo- 
ple to  go  to  America.  But  it  did  not  do 
so  at  once.  On  the  contrary,  it  said  to 
them,  « Here  I  am  come  to  remain  with 
you — a  fat,  jolly  bulb,  and  you  can  fatten 
on  me  and  stay  where  you  are.'  So  they 
feasted  on  him,  and  he  seemed  to  thrive 
with  them,  and  the  people  multiplied  fast. 


.from  Shaooto  to  Sunlight.       37 

Why,  in  fifty  years  they  had  increased  so 
much  that  there  were  three  times  the 
number  living  in  the  place.  And  then 
the  American  envoy,  the  potato,  sud- 
denly found  out  that  the  climate  was  not 
quite  to  his  liking,  and  gave  only  black- 
ened bulbs  where  before  there  had  been 
wholesome,  -creamy  roots.  The  people 
sickened  and  starved,  and  some  were 
helped  to  go  to  America,  and  they  wrote 
home  that  there  was  plenty  and  no  potato 
disease.  Then  came  a  mania  for  a  resi- 
dence on  your  big  continent,  and  the 
owners '  of  the  land  got  frightened  that 
all  their  people  would  leave  them;  and 
many  tried  to  make  them  stay,  but  in 
vain.  They  would  go.  Their  children 
are  rich  enough  now,  and  the  owners  of 
the  land  have  found  out  that  they  could 
manage  also  with  fewer  tenants." 

"  It  seems  sad  that  they  could  not  have 
remained  in  their  own  country,  although, 
to  be  sure,  I  should  not  have  been  a  free 


38       from  SbaootB  to 


American  myself  if  my  ancestors  had  not 
been  progressive  and  left  the  old  country," 
said  Mary,  her  eyes  becoming  cloudy  and 
thoughtful,  and  continued  :  "  I  have  heard 
it  said  that  the  rights  of  the  people  were 
taken  from  them,  and  that  the  land  that 
was  theirs  became  the  laird's." 

McLain  would  not  for  one  moment  al- 
low this. 

"That  is  a  piece  of  agitator's  lying," 
he  said  warmly,  "  got  up  by  them  for  pur- 
poses of  a  little  cheap  election  popularity. 
But  I  think  they  have  found  themselves 
mistaken.  The  people  are  in  the  long  run 
too  honest  and  sensible  to  believe  that 
they  can  take  at  will  other  men's  goods. 
Of  old  the  laird  was  a  terrible  autocrat. 
It  is  quite  true  that  unless  he  wanted  what 
he  called  '  loyal  '  tenants,  he  did  not  dis- 
place those  on  the  soil,  because  they  were 
his  own  people  to  some  extent,  and  it  was 
not  natural  that  he  should  do  so.  But  if 
in  troubled  times  they  went  against  the 


from  Shubow  to  Sunlight.       39 

side  he  espoused,  they  were  moved  and 
others  put  in  their  places.  This  happened 
in  our  mixed  and  vexed  history  often 
enough.  The  obedience  they  had  to  ren- 
der to  their  chief  and  chieftains  was  abso- 
lute, and  the  continuance  in  their  lands, 
and  the  enjoyment  of  them,  according  to 
their  rude  fashion,  was  theirs  because  they 
gave  their  chief  warlike  service.  He  had 
only  to  hold  up  his  little  finger,  or  more 
practically  and  literally  go  to  a  kirk  and 
blow  a  horn,  and  his  men  had  to  go  with 
him,  the  next  moment,  if  he  so  willed  it, 
to  cut  the  throat  of  the  nearest  neighbor- 
ing chief  and  his  folk  in  the  next  glen. 
That  is  fact.  And  yet  with  the  fiction 
that  the  lands  were  not  the  property  of 
the  chiefs,  who  have  always  exercised 
the  rights  of  property  over  them,  our 
sapient  legislators  have  given  to  the 
occupiers  the  houses  built  by  myself  and 
others.  The  result  of  course  is  that  we 
can  build  no  longer  for  our  friends, 


40       .from  Shabouj  to  Qnnlicjht. 

and  must  leave  them  to  shift  for  them- 
selves." 

"  O,  Mr.  McLain !  I  am  sure  you  are 
glad  that  the  poor  people  have  their  share 
of  houses  and  lands,"  said  Mary. 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  am,  Miss  Mary ;  but  I 
fear  the  general  effect  of  such  laws  trans- 
ferring what  has  been  one  man's  to  an- 
other's possession,  will  be  that  most  peo- 
ple will  take  care  to  put  no  houses  on  land 
that  may  be  thus  taken  from  them.  They 
will  say  to  the  poor :  '  Now  you  have  been 
put  in  possession  as  owner  of  that  I  gave 
you  to  make  you  comfortable,  and  you 
must  look  to  the  Government  and  not  to 
me  for  further  help.'  The  Government 
will  say :  '  No,  we  have  done  it  for  a  few, 
but  we  can't  do  it  for  all,  nor  can  we  con- 
tinue to  help  the  person  to  whom  we  have 
given  the  land,  ta  live  upon  it.'  The 
wisest  plan  would  have  been  to  have  made 
laws  against  wrongful  use  of  legal  powers 
in  the  case  of  the  poor,  instead  of  putting 


from  Shafcoto  to  Sunlight.       41 

the  poor  in  a  position  of  temporary  and 
false  independence  that  can  last  for  a 
short  time  only,  and  then  leave  him  in  a 
position  worse  off  than  before,  when  he 
could  look  to  the  landlord  as  a  friend  as 
well  as  a  neighbor." 

"  I  should  help  them  at  all  times,"  said 
sweet  Miss  Mary ;  "  but  I  have  known 
many,  like  your  Scotchmen,  who  would 
not  do  so  certainly  if  the  gentlemen  who 
had  left  the  people  on  their  land  were  to 
be  so  fined  for  their  goodness.  It  is  easy 
to  exercise  charity  at  other  people's  ex- 
pense. Those  talkers  would  act  meanly 
if  they  themselves  had  to  lose  anything 
by  their  talk.  Perhaps  that  is  so.  Any- 
how you  would  not  wish  to  fight  your 
neighbors  over  those  hills  now,  Mr.  Mc- 
Lain,  so  you  don't  want  the  war  service 
of  the  crofters." 

"  We  should  like  some  of  them  to  serve 
in  the  army  against  a  national  enemy,  but 
they  won't  serve  either  their  chiefs  or  the 


42       from  Shaboro  ta  Sunlight. 

Queen  in  her  army  now,  and  even  in  the 
old  days  it  was  difficult  enough  to  per- 
suade them  to  come  forward,  for  instance, 
for  the  French  war." 

"  Why,  that's  the  time  of  our  war  with 
you,  the  war  of  Independence,''  said  Miss 
Mary,  mischievously,  "  and  if  they  had 
been  all  persuaded  to  serve,  we  should 
have  a  good  many  more  bad  potatoes 
planted  among  us,  I  guess." 

"  Ours  are  not  bad  potatoes,"  laughed 
Mr.  McLain,  "  but  all  peasants,  if  they 
have  a  hearth,  don't  like  to  leave  it.  In 
France  you  have  to  have  forced  service, 
or  conscription,  on  this  ground,  that  the 
men  who  dislike  most  the  military  service 
are  the  men  who  can  call  some  land  their 
own.  We  found  it  too  difficult,  as  I  say, 
in  the  old  days  to  get  them  to  turn  out, 
great  as  our  power  over  them  was,  and  I 
doubt  if  you  planted  these  hills  and  val- 
leys thickly  with  people,  first,  whether 
many  would  stay,  because  the  demands 


,fr0m  0hab0tn  to  Sunlight.       43 

for  comfort  are  far  higher  now,  and  they 
would  not  be  satisfied ;  secondly,  whether 
those  who  did  stay  and  were  content  to 
live  in  places  where  none  but  the  least 
enterprising  would  remain,  could  be  per- 
suaded to  contribute  a  contingent  to  the 
army.  Some  of  the  crowding  of  the  croft- 
ing population  that  took  place  after  the 
war  was  in  consequence  of  the  cutting  up 
of  good  farms  into  small  bits  to  accommo- 
date men  who  would  serve  only  on  the 
promise  of  the  possession  of  such  land 
after  the  campaign." 

"  Well,  now,  tell  me  something  of  their 
belief,  besides  their  faith  in  the  virtues  of 
doing  nothing,"  she  said.  "  Are  they  very 
superstitious?" 

"  Not  more  so  than  most  uneducated 
people,  and  perhaps  less  so  than  many 
who  are  highly  educated.  The  things 
that  are  told  of  saints  and  others  were 
taught  them  by  the  most  educated  men  of 
old  time,  whose  nonsense  can  be  heard 


44       .from  BhobotD  to  Sunlight. 

any  day  at  the  present,  if  one  takes  up  a 
church  book.  Of  course,  there's  the  Evil 
Eye.  I  have  never  been  in  any  country 
where  that  was  not  more  or  less  firmly 
believed  in.  In  Ireland  they  put  a  piece 
of  bent  stick  over  the  lock  of  a  door  when 
they  leave  their  cabin  to  prevent  the  Evil 
Eye  or  hobgoblin  from  entering.  A  friend 
of  mine  used  to  put  up  at  the  house  of  a 
lady  who  had  a  farm  situated  near  a  road 
he  often  had  to  take.  She  used  hospi- 
tably to  give  him  a  night's  lodging  as  he 
passed.  One  day  to  his  surprise  as  he 
left  her  door  she  said  goodby,  and  that 
she  must  request  him  not  to  call  again, 
as  each  time  he  had  come  she  had  lost  a 
cow,  a  horse,  a  pig,  a  hen,  or  some  creat- 
ure she  had  owned,  through  death.  It 
must  be  my  friend's  evil  eye  that  did  the 
mischief.  She  was  very  sorry,  but  she 
must  thank  my  friend  not  to  call  again. 
It  is  always  considered  unlucky  to  start 
on  a  voyage,  however  short,  in  a  boat  un- 


from  Shabow  ta  fitanligfyt.       45 

less  you  turn  the  boat  three  times  round 
with  the  sun.  This  has  no  doubt  nothing 
to  do  with  the  evil  eye,  but  it  is  a  remnant 
of  the  ancient  sun  worship.  But  ill  luck 
attaches  itself  in  their  minds  to  any  boat 
from  which  a  man  has  fallen  overboard 
and  been  lost.  Would  you  believe  it,  I 
once  told  some  men  that  they  might  pur- 
chase a  boat  at  my  expense.  They  went 
and  chose  a  very  good  one.  Some  ma- 
licious agitators  did  not  like  them  to  ac- 
cept a  boat  from  me,  and  they  started  a 
cock  and  bull  story  that  a  man  had  been 
lost  from  the  vessel.  From  the  moment 
this  lie  was  spread  among  them  not  a  man 
of  the  crew  which  had  been  got  together 
would  touch  the  boat.  They  actually  left 
it  to  lie  and  rot  on  the  beach,  and  some 
more  sensible  person  offered  a  few  pounds 
for  it,  bought  it,  as  none  of  the  people  of 
the  place  would  do  anything  with  her;  and 
she  is  now  in  his  hands  giving  an  excel- 
lent return  in  the  fish  that  her  lowland 


46       .from  0habcm)  10  Sunlight. 

crew  take.  It  is  amazing  that  our  people 
should  thus  listen  to  strange  men  and 
still  stranger  women.  But  there  are  other 
bees  in  other  people's  bonnets,  and  we 
must  hope  that  they  who  have  known  us 
from  childhood  will  return  in  affection  to 
us,  who  have  for  generations  been  their 
real  friends.  But  it  is  not  their  supersti- 
tion, but  their  old  predatory  habits  that 
the  tempters  play  upon  in  speaking  to 
them  against  us  now.  If  they  could  only 
be  got  to  believe  that  the  evil  eye  and 
bad  luck  would  follow  them  if  they  broke 
up  the  friendship  their  fathers  had  with 
ours,  they  would  never  think  of  turning 
against  us.  Even  if  gold  were  at  the  end 
of  the  cave  we  are  about  to  visit,  no 
human  persuasion  would  tempt  them  to 
enter  it  after  dark  alone." 


CHAPTER   III. 

LEAVING  the  carriages  at  the  large, 
white  farmhouse,  wraps  and  luncheon- 
baskets  were  consigned  to  the  ghillies, 
and  a  delightful  walk  undertaken  over  the 
pastures  that  topped  the  sea-cliffs.  Or- 
chises and  little  pansies  flecked  the  grass, 
and  where  any  natural  knoll,  too  rough 
for  the  herbage,  had  broken  the  surface, 
there  the  heather  seeds  had  dropped  and 
flourished,  and  the  hum  of  bees  in  the 
deep  red  bells  and  minute  purple  flow- 
erets told  of  the  grateful  gathering  of 
unenvied  wealth.  Now  the  path  skirted 
the  very  edge  of  the  abrupt  wall,  which 
rose  close  to  the  line  of  refluent  sea- 
water,  and  although  there  was  no  wind 
and  no  lashing  wave,  yet  the  heart-beat 


48       from  Seaborn  ta  Sunlight. 

of  the  mighty  deep,  sent,  in  measured 
undulations,  shining  masses  that  almost 
insensibly  swelled  and  laved  with  an  am- 
pler flood  the  jagged  stones  and  sandy 
coves,  while  a  low  murmur,  as  though  of 
pleasure,  rose  upon  the  air ;  only  every 
now  and  then  a  little  flush  of  darker  blue 
mantled,  for  an  instant,  the  surface,  where 
a  breath  of  wind  had  wandered  from  the 
mountains  inland,  and  had  fallen  over  the 
cliff,  and  struck  with  a  light  "  flurry " 
upon  the  waters. 

Mary  would  have  liked  to  lie  down  on 
the  perfumed  bank  to  gaze  for  hours  on 
the  grandeur  of  the  coast  which  dipped, 
headland  beyond  headland,  into  those 
turbulent  depths.  She  had  seated  her- 
self, but  rose,  saying,  "  Man  is  always  in 
a  hurry  when  he  should  rest,  and  gener- 
ally thinking  when  he  should  be  acting," 
for  she  was  told  that  the  tide  would  soon 
be  too  high  for  their  purpose  if  they  de- 
layed. She  left,  with  a  sigh,  the  place 


.from  Sha&oto  ta  Sunlight.       49 

made  to  look  yet  more  restful  by  her  re- 
pose, and  found  that  they  had  been  led 
to  a  break  in  the  rock  wall,  and  that  close 
to  where  they  stood,  a  very  steep,  but 
still  quite  practicable  slope  of  turf,  made 
a  descent  tolerably  easy.  The  only  one 
of  the  party  who  would  not  venture  it 
was  an  elderly  Italian,  who  looked  down 
the  steep  green  stairs  of  turf,  shook  his 
head  over  the  abyss,  and  murmured  re- 
peatedly, "  Imposs !  imposs  !  "  Nothing 
could  persuade  him  to  attempt  the  task, 
even  although  the  ladies  offered  him  their 
fair  shoulders  as  a  support  for  his  hands. 
"  Imposs,"  as  they  then  called  him,  was 
left  at  the  top  of  the  bank,  looking  over 
the  path,  "  like  an  old  mare  over  a  gate," 
as  one  of  the  others  remarked,  with  more 
truth  than  politeness. 

A  scramble  brought  them  all  safely  to 
the  bottom,  and  then  began  a  more  diffi- 
cult part  of  the  road,  for  the  little  space 
left  between  rock  and  sea  was  strewed 
4 


50       from  0hab0tD  to  Btmlight. 

with  huge  bowlders  rolled  up  by  the  ice 
in  past  ages,  and  fragments  of  rock  de- 
tached and  tumbled  from  above.  These 
lay  in  confusion,  piled  one  above  the 
other,  strewed  in  wondrous  disorder,  lit- 
tle pools  left  by  the  tide  scattered  among 
them,  where  their  lower  surfaces  were 
decked  with  the  little  pyramids  of  the 
limpet,  and  scarred  white  with  the  crusts 
of  barnacle  and  serpula.  The  men  had 
plenty  to  do  to  get  the  women  over  the 
rough  obstructions  of  the  shore,  and  they 
all  paused,  breathless  with  their  climbing, 
where  a  rough  table  of  stone  gave  them 
a  comparatively  flat  platform  whereon  to 
take  breath.  Above  them,  over  the  preci- 
pice, streamed  a  little  burn,  coming  from 
what  seemed  a  great  height,  and  grad- 
ually getting  thinner  and  thinner  in  its 
volume  until  it  reached  the  broken  rocks 
below,  a  mere  streak  of  foam-white  spray, 
showing  through  its  veil  the  red  and  gray 
of  the  stone  beyond,  and  the  green  tufts 


Shaboto  to  Sunlight.       5 


of  fern  and  ivy  which  clung  to  that  over- 
hanging wall.  And  now,  beyond  a  last 
giant  buttress,  they  were  told  that  the 
object  of  their  journey  lay.  They  had, 
however,  been  so  careful  to  arrive  as  the 
tide  was  retiring  that  they  had  come  too 
soon,  and  were  obliged  to  wait,  because 
the  road  around  the  foot  of  the  angle  of 
rock  was  still  flowing  knee-deep.  A  wild 
pigeon  or  two  flew  in  before  them  into 
the  recess  they  desired  to  reach,  and  they 
envied  the  birds  their  wings.  A  little  pa- 
tience was,  however,  easily  learned  '  on 
that  glorious  spot,  and  soon  the  white 
and  green  and  muddy  pebbles  showed 
shining  wet,  for  they  were  still  kissed  by 
the  lips  of  the  sea,  but  the  sun  disputed 
their  possession,  and  the  travelers  could 
tread  on  them.  Just  round  the  corner 
the  whole  of  the  immense  opening  of  the 
cave  showed  itself  to  their  astonished 
eyes.  Far  away  overhead  the  cliff  broke 
into  a  vast  portal,  whose  rugged  and  ir- 


52       .from  Seaborn  to  Snnlight. 

regular  arch  grew  gradually  lower  and 
lower  as  the  aperture  deepened  inward. 
This  covered  approach  to  the  actual  en- 
trance of  the  cave  was  paved  with  many- 
colored  pebbles,  while  the  rock  in  ter- 
raced ledges  rose  grandly  on  each  side 
as  they  stood  within.  The  roof  above 
was  more  beautiful  than  could  have  been 
any  closed  vault;  for,  open  to  the  sun 
and  sea  air  through  its  wide  and  lofty 
entrance,  it  appeared  like  the  avenue  to 
some  mystic  Egyptian  temple,  where  the 
perspective  makes  the  walls  close  in  and 
in,  until  the  opening  to  the  cave  itself 
leads  in  the  distance  to  the  narrow  en- 
trance which  guards  the  sacred  halls  of 
the  secret  and  inner  fane. 

Mary,  with  the  impetuosity  of  her  girl- 
ish character,  sped  on  over  the  pavement 
of  small  stones  that  made  walking  labori- 
ous, and,  followed  by  her  companions, 
stood  for  a  while  beneath  the  ragged 
lintel  of  the  door  of  the  cave  vault ;  there 


,fr0m  Shobou)  to  Sunlight.       53 

the  archway  was  only  about  thirty  feet 
in  height.  Looking  behind,  she  saw  the 
blue  line  of  the  sea's  horizon,  formed  by 
the  rocks,  and  inclosing  on  its  farthest 
verge  an  island,  which  seemed  a  mere 
mote  in  that  intense  light  which  shone 
on  the  outer  world.  Before  her  loomed 
a  great  space  of  darkness,  where  the 
rocky  ceiling  rose  into  impenetrable 
gloom.  The  floor  still  rose  slightly,  but 
not  with  so  decided  an  incline,  and  it  was 
now  sand  and  not  a  confused  collection 
of  rounded  stones  on  which  she  stood. 
Her  eyes  gradually  became  more  accus- 
tomed to  the  gloom,  and  she  saw  how  ex- 
tensive was  the  natural  hall  into  which 
she  had  ventured. 

"  Oh,  look  what  nice  soft  sand ;  and 
there  are  flat  stones  to  make  tables  for 
our  lunch,"  she  said,  and  pointed  to  some 
blocks  that  gleamed  shadowy  white  some 
forty  yards  away. 

She  moved  on  to  them,  and  when  nearer 


54       -from  Shaoow  to  Bmtlight. 

she  saw,  or  thought  she  saw,  seated  on 
them  a  man.  The  figure,  if  she  could 
trust  her  eyes  in  the  obscurity,  was  that 
of  an  old  man.  He  was  clad  in  a  brown 
or  dark-looking  long  coat,  and  had  a 
white  beard,  and  his  hat  was  on  his  head, 
a  battered  wide-brimmed  cloth  hat  that 
concealed  a  good  deal  of  the  face.  She 
was  startled  for  a  moment,  and  looked 
toward  her  companions  as  if  asking  if 
they  should  camp  there,  as  others  seemed 
to  be  there  before  them.  But  when  she 
looked  again  the  figure  had  moved,  and, 
thinking  that  it  must  only  be  some  tour- 
ist visiting  the  cavern  as  she  and  her 
friends  were,  she  sat  down  on  the  sand, 
and  soon  the  baskets  were  emptied  of 
the  luncheon,  and  a  laughing  group  made 
the  corks  fly,  and  jokes  and  merriment 
reigned.  They  sat  with  their  backs  to 
the  darkness,  and  fronting  the  entrance, 
so  that  the  cheerful  day  made  a  deep 
shaft  of  light  strike  along  the  floor  al- 


from  Sljaboto  to  Stmhght.       55 

most  to  their  feet.  The  glare  was  so 
rarefied  by  the  space  it  had  to  pass  that 
they  could  look  forth  undazzled  through 
that  little  arch,  to  where  the  island 
floated,  far  away.  If  any  person  had 
attempted  to  pass  out  they  must  there- 
fore, of  course,  have  seen  him,  and  toward 
the  end  of  their  repast,  Mary  said  in  a 
low  voice  to  her  neighbor,  that  she  won- 
dered what  had  become  of  the  old  gentle- 
man who  had  been  sitting  so  near  where 
they  then  were  when  they  first  entered. 

"  Old  gentleman !  there  is  nobody  here 
surely  but  ourselves,"  said  she,  and  this 
statement  was  echoed  by  those  who  were 
sure  that  there  could  be  nobody,  and  that 
there  had  been  nobody  there,  or  they 
would  have  seen  them.  Only  young  Mc- 
Lain  backed  Mary's  remarks,  and  said 
that  he,  too,  had  positively  seen  a  man 
move  away  into  the  darker  parts  of  the 
cave.  He  added,  laughing : 

"  If  it  isn't  a  tourist,  it  must  be  some 


56       from  Shafcow  to 


belated  smuggler."  He,  too,  had  noticed 
the  white  beard  and  the  long  brown  coat. 
"  Well,"  he  said,  in  the  undertone  in  which 
their  conversation  had  been  carried  on, 
for  they  knew  not  if  they  might  not  be 
overheard,  "  if  it's  a  smuggler  we'll  soon 
find  him,  for  this  great  vault  is  as  round 
as  a  kettle,  and  the  main  corridor  that 
leads  out  of  it  farther  on  into  the  hill, 
ending  in  another  smaller  hall,  has  no 
side  passages  that  I  have  ever  seen  or 
heard  of.  Light  the  candles  and  lanterns, 
and  we'll  soon  show  you  the  end  of  any 
mystery  there  may  be  here." 

All  started  to  their  feet,  and  a  number 
of  lights,  little  glow-worms,  searched  the 
moist  walls,  and  peered  into  any  crannies 
that  appeared.  The  sandy  floor  rose 
higher  and  higher,  until  it  ended  in  a 
ridge  under  the  place  where  the  rock 
ceiling  again  descended  from  its  height 
to  within  thirty  feet  of  the  floor.  Beyond 
this  ridge  a  wide  passage  led  and  past 


from  Shafcoto  to  Stmlight.       57 

more  big  stones,  until  a  slight  descent  a 
hundred  yards  farther  brought  them  to 
the  room  described  by  McLain.  The 
farther  end  of  this  was  blocked  by  pieces 
of  rock  detached  from  the  roof. 

They  had  come  across  no  person,  and 
now  that  they  could  speak  without  fear 
of  being  overheard,  Mary  was  often  mer- 
rily told  that  she  had  been  long  enough 
in  Scotland,  for  she  had  begun  to  share 
the  second  sight  McLain  was  reported  to 
possess.  She  was  certainly  much  puzzled, 
and  so  was  he,  at  the  absence  of  any  proof 
of  their  statement,  and  they  answered  lit- 
tle, and  seemed  to  regard  the  matter  more 
seriously  than  did  the  others.  So  much 
was  this  the  case  that  the  attempt  at 
badinage  on  the  subject  died  away,  and 
they  left  the  cave  far  more  silent  than 
when  they  entered  it.  But  their  spirits 
revived  with  the  renewed  exercise  of  the 
exertion  of  the  scramble  over  the  fear- 
fully rough  shore ;  the  young  men  were 


58       from  ShabotD  ta  Sunlight. 

happy  enough  in  helping  Mary  over  the 
rugged  obstacles,  and  they  would  encour- 
age her  to  rest  and  stand  on  some  big 
stone,  where  they  could  admire  her  as 
she  stood  above  them,  her  young  figure 
appearing  to  their  gaze  more  beautiful 
than  that  of  any  Grecian  goddess,  as  she 
remained  awhile  looking  to  seaward,  her 
hand,  as  it  leaned  on  a  long  staff  of  hazel, 
raised  above  her  head,  the  masses  of  her 
dark  hair  showing  in  abundance  under  a 
blue  flat  "boori,"  or  basque  cap,  her 
rounded  and  firm  chin,  clear  cut  lips,  and 
nostrils  taking  in  the  salt  breath  of  the 
ocean,  with  a  delight  that  her  great  and 
happy  eyes  made  glorious  to  behold. 

But  all  good  things  must  come  to  an 
end,  including  the  chance  of  seeing  a 
beautiful  girl  motionless,  and  having  the 
luck  to  be  allowed  to  stare  at  her  without 
being  rude ;  for  now  the  top  of  the  cliff 
had  to  be  gained.  There  they  found  their 
sedentary  friend,  "  Old  Imposs,"  as  they 


.from  Shafcow  to  Sunlight.       59 

called  him,  waiting  for  their  return,  de- 
claring that  he  had  had  a  much  better 
time  of  it  than  they,  but,  by  the  by,  had 
they  any  lunch  left,  for  he  had  quite  for- 
gotten that  he  had  none  in  his  pockets 
when  they  went  down  to  the  shore,  and 
he  had  begun  to  envy  the  cormorants 
below  him,  for  he  had  seen  a  lot  of  them 
on  a  rock  taking  a  wash  in  the  water,  en- 
joying a  most  substantial  meal  on  fish, 
that  he  had  begun  to  feel  hungry  enough 
to  eat  raw. 

The  ladies  rather  unkindly  declared 
he  deserved  nothing  until  he  got  back  to 
the  farm-house,  but  one  of  the  ghillies 
was  seen  to  keep  back  alone  with  him, 
and  it  was  feared  he  had  obtained  a  sur- 
reptitious supply  of  whisky  and  biscuit, 
for  he  did  not  mention  the  cormorants 
again.  Young  McLain  soon  made  a  pre- 
text for  telling  him  and  the  rest  to  pro- 
ceed, as  he  decided  to  fetch  something  he 
had  accidently  left  on  the  shore,  and  wan- 


60       from  Shabotn  to  Sunlight. 

dered  back  the  way  they  had  come.  But 
no  sooner  were  they  out  of  sight  than  he 
reascended  the  grassy  bank,  and  crept 
onward  along  the  cliff  brink  where  heath- 
er screened  the  abyss,  until  he  knew  by 
the  lie  of  the  land  he  stood  immediately 
over  the  cave.  Here  he  lay  down  and 
crept  cautiously,  as  though  stalking  a 
deer,  and  determined  to  remain  unseen, 
to  the  very  brink.  Parting  the  heather, 
he  looked  cautiously  down. 

Nearly  an  hour  had  now  elapsed  since 
they  had  left  the  cave,  and  looking  down 
upon  the  shore  where  the  big  bowlders 
they  had  crossed  with  so  much  difficulty, 
appeared  no  larger  than  a  boy's  toy  mar- 
ble, this  is  what  he  saw.  It  was  nothing 
very  startling,  but  it  was  something  that 
puzzled  him  considerably. 

A  boat,  with  a  small  sail  lying  along 
the  thwarts,  was  being  unfastened  from  a 
tiny  creek  in  the  rocks  below.  This  mini- 
ature cove  must  have  been  entirely  con- 


.from  Shaboto  io  Sunlight.       61 

cealed  from  any  one  climbing  along  the 
rough  shore,  unless  it  was  accidentally 
stumbled  upon.  Besides,  it  lay  beyond 
the  approach  to  the  cave. 

Engaged  in  unfastening  the  boat,  and 
working  with  evident  energy  to  get  it 
away  before  the  tide  yet  receded  farther, 
was  a  man.  Unlike  the  person  McLain 
and  Mary  thought  they  had  seen  in  the 
darkness  of  the  cavern,  this  person  was 
evidently  young  and  vigorous.  McLain 
pulled  out  his  field  glass,  and  saw  him  as 
though  he  could  have  touched  him.  He 
had  fair  and  fine  hair,  which  had  grown 
long  over  the  forehead  and  back,  and 
was  bright  and  curly.  On  the  crown  of 
the  head  it  seemed  to  have  been  cut 
shorter,  as  though  for  the  sake  of  some 
wound.  The  youth  was  bareheaded.  A 
new  growth  of  young  hair  covered  his 
chin  and  lip.  He  seemed  nervous  and  hur- 
ried ;  his  eyes  were  expressive  enough,  but 
the  expression  was  one  of  some  anxiety 


62       ,from  ShabotD  to  Sunlight. 

and  tension  of  mind,  enforced  by  a  knit- 
ting of  his  brows  and  the  quick  motion 
of  his  hands,  with  which  he  often  threw 
back  the  hair  and  dried  his  brow.  Soon 
the  painter  was  free,  the  little  mast  stepped, 
although  the  sail  was  not  yet  hoisted. 

The  young  man  jumped  into  the  little 
craft,  and  soon  shoved  himself  into  the 
deep.  Then  he  took  the  oars  as  he  stood, 
and  rowed  for  a  while  standing  between 
the  thwarts,  in  order  to  see  ahead,  for  he 
seemed  fearful  of  some  rock  or  shallow. 
He  did  this  slowly,  but  evidently  quite  at 
ease  now  that  he  was  afloat  and  had 
caught  the  ebbing  water.  And  as  he 
slowly  bent  and  swung  forward,  leaning 
on  the  oars,  he  paused  at  intervals,  and 
his  heart  seemed  to  fill  with  joy,  as,  with 
head  erect,  he  sang  these  strange  words  :- 

"  Out  from  the  darkness,  forth  into  light, 

From  the  vault  of  earth  I  go  ; 
The  Rock-dove's  neck  but  needs  her  flight 
From  the  cave,  in  the  sun  to  glow, 


from  Seaborn  ta  Snnligfyt.       63 

So  my  soul,  athirst  for  the  open  day, 
Moves  aflame  with  the  love  Divine  ; 

O  shelter  me,  shine  on  my  ocean  way, 
God  !  with  the  angels  nine. 

"  The  devious  tracks  are  passed  at  last, 

I  see  the  heavens  blue, 
Thy  love's  great  tide  swings  free  and  vast, 

And  thrills  the  whole  world  through, 
Unchanging,  in  its  change,  to  fill 

With  health  the  noisome  mine  ; 
So  come,  Thou  all-compelling  Will, 

With  Thy  great  angels  nine. 

"  I  sought  to  know  Thy  way  through  those 

Who  make  themselves  as  God  ; 
The  worm  that  on  his  belly  goes, 

Their  sign — not  Thy  green  sod — 
Thy  sunlight  was  not  in  their  heart, 

Nor  Thy  great  ways  Divine  ; 
Thy  breakers  shatter  their  dull  art, 

Thou  need'st  not  angels  nine  ! 

"  Priests  spin  their  cobwebs,  hiding  truth, 

And  weave  their  nets  for  power ; 
One  honest  pulse  of  healthy  youth 

Is  worth  their  creed's  long  hour ; 
Then  forth  to  follow  to  the  West, 

Thy  great  Sun's  golden  sign  ; 
Away  with  any  man-made  test, 

My  soul's  whole  worship  Thine  ! " 


64       .from  0haooto  to  Bmnligljt. 

The  voice  ascended  clear  and  strong  in 
the  calm  evening  air,  and  still  the  young 
rower  stood  and  propelled  his  craft  in 
the  leisurely  fashion  with  which  he  had 
started.  But  soon  a  little  breeze  touched 
the  surface  around  him,  and  he  stooped 
to  raise  his  sail.  And  McLain  marveled 
more  and  more  who  on  earth  he  could  be, 
but  refrained  from  hailing  him,  much  as 
he  felt  inclined  to  shout  out  a  happy 
journey  to  him — "  merely  for  the  fun,"  as 
he  said  afterward,  "  of  startling  him." 
But  there  fell  no  voice  from  the  height  to 
surprise  the  youth.  The  quiet  beauty  of 
this  Western  night  would  soon  be  around 
him.  A  few  cries  from  gulls,  a  few 
splashes  as  a  diver  threw  up  his  tail  and 
disappeared,  or  the  sound  of  the  watery 
shock  of  the  plunge  after  his  prey  of  the 
solan  bird ;  the  feathery  "  whisk  "  heard 
at  intervals  from  the  place  where  the 
little  brook  fell  down  the  precipice,  and 
the  more  constant  hollow  whisper  of  the 


.from  Shaooto  to  Sunlight.       65 

tide  along  the  shore,  a  sound  that  never  * 
allows  an  absolute  silence,  even  on  the 
calmest  day — these,  and  these  alone,  could 
be  heard  when  the  song  ceased.  The 
dusky  cobalt  of  the  upper  heavens  be- 
came yet  deeper,  as  the  golden  glory  in 
the  west  brightened,  and  ever  brightened. 
A  few  pennon-like  streaks  of  cloud 
glowed  with  an  ethereal  crimson,  and  in 
varied  lights  of  palest  green,  and  saffron, 
and  blue,  the  sea  shone  responsive  to  the 
light  above.  The  isles  and  islets  afar 
upon  its  breast  assumed  a  deep  sapphire 
tint,  and  McLain's  thoughts  turned  to  the 
Celtic  legends  of  the  Isles  of  the  Blessed, 
the  Avilion  whither  the  spirit  of  Arthur 
passed  at  his  death.  Where  were  they, 
those  "  fortunate  isles  ?"  Where  never 
wind  blew  loudly,  nor  mortal  grief  could 
come  ?  Would  he  or  any  man  ever  find 
them  ?  or  could  they  ever  be  seen — for,  in 
the  end,  there  would  be  "  no  more  sea." 
How  then  could  there  be  any  happy 
5 


66       from  Shnfcotn  to  Smtlight. 

'  shores  in  the  West,  he  asked  himself,  half- 
smiling  at  the  futility  of  his  own  thoughts. 
And  as  he  so  checked  himself  in  his 
dreaming,  he  took  another  look  through 
his  glass  at  the  voyager  in  the  little  boat. 
The  sail  was  drawing  the  light  air  and  he 
was  fast  leaving  the  land  behind,  and 
gliding  quietly  toward  the  blaze  in  the 
west;  and  McLain  gazed  again  toward 
the  sunset,  and  saw  far  down  on  the 
burning  horizon  what  seemed  to  be  the 
very  isle  of  his  desire.  There  it  stood 
from  out  the  opal-tinted  deep,  refulgent 
with  more  than  mortal  brightness.  There 
rose  a  glittering  shore  with  sudden  peak 
and  deep  ravine,  with  splintered  mountain 
ridge  and  glens  glowing  with  the  sheen  of 
molten  precious  metals.  Distinct  and  un- 
mistakable, the  strange  land  lay  along 
the  water,  an  Eldorado  so  clearly  defined 
that  the  most  skeptical  eye  could  not 
doubt  of  its  existence.  The  youth  in  the 
now  distant  boat  appeared  to  see  it,  for  he 


front  Shocoro  to  Sunlight.       67 

stood  up  and  gazed  westward,  as  though 
beholding  the  vision  of  wonder  beyond 
the  rough  basaltic  masses  that  broke 
through  the  ocean  surface  nearer  to  him. 
But  now  the  night  came  on  apace;  the 
boat  grew  smaller  and  smaller.  It  was 
only  the  nearer  and  familiar  and  certainly 
material  forms  of  the  Hebrides  that  could 
be  dimly  distinguished  in  the  gathering 
gloom,  and  McLain  left  his  watch,  puz- 
zled and  feeling  decidedly  superstitious, 
with  a  prevalent  feeling  that  the  mysteri- 
ous young  man  had  got  a  clew  to  a  scent 
that  had  long  escaped  the  most  searching 
Celt,  and  had  shipped  himself  off  "  for 
good,"  to  the  happy  land,  which  none 
really  deserved  until  they  had  grown  to 
be  at  least  four  times  as  old  as  the  young 
voyager,  or  three  times  as  old  as  McLain 
himself. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THAT  inland  sea,  ringed  with  its  round- 
headed  hills  of  yellow  sand,  called  the 
Harbor  of  San  Francisco,  shone  steel  blue, 
as  the  usual  cold  wind  blew  upon  it 
through  the  "  golden  gate  " — the  opening 
to  the  Pacific.  In  the  carved  court  of 
the  immense  Palace  Hotel,  which  in  that 
city  engulfs  most  of  the  travelers  who 
arrive  as  fleeting  birds  of  passage,  the 
band  made  the  white,  wooden-columned 
colonnades  of  each  of  its  many  stories 
resound  with  a  brazen  din.  There  was 
an  incessant  banquet  proceeding  in  the 
lower  halls,  where  a  never-ending  table 
tThdte  attracted  and  surfeited  people,  who 
seemed  to  come  from  most  of  the  civil- 
ized countries  under  the  sun.  In  the 


front  Seaborn  la  Sunlight.       69 

luxurious  upper  rooms,  little  supper  and 
dinner  parties  were  being  given  ;  and 
sometimes  the  purchases  that  had  been 
made  of  curiosities  in  the  city  discussed, 
and  the  articles  displayed. 

There  were  many  handsome  shops  in 
the  straight  streets  which  ran  up  and 
down  the  monstrous  sand-hills,  but  the 
monotony  of  the  things  set  out  for  the 
benefit  of  tourists  was  usually  even  great- 
er than  that  of  the  streets  and  hills. 
Specimens  of  gold  in  dust ;  specimens  of 
gold  in  crystals  of  pure  yellow  metal ; 
specimens  of  gold  in  quartz,  cut  and  pol- 
ished; specimens  of  gold  in  nuggets, 
small  and  big.  These  were  the  forms 
that  the  San  Francisco  commercial  enter- 
prise exhibited  as  the  chief  novelties  and 
peculiarities  of  the  place,  and  some  of 
the  visitors  had  had  enough  of  them. 
This  was  the  case  with  a  party  which  had 
just  arrived  from  the  Eastern  States,  and 
although  tired  with  the  long  time  spent 


70       from  0habou)  to  Sunlight. 

in  the  cars,  had  already  seen  most  of  the 
sights  of  the  city,  including  some  of  the 
magnificent  wooden-built  houses  of  the 
principal  merchant  princes,  the  park  where 
the  sea-lions  are  shown,  reposing  their 
ungainly  carcasses  on  the  stack  of  rocks 
that  jut  out  into  the  long  rolling  surge  of 
the  Pacific.  They  were  talking  of  an  ex- 
pedition to  Montalto,  where  the  Govern- 
or's splendid  herd  of  horses  might  be  seen 
by  those  who  could  present  introductions 
to  him ;  but  it  was  resolved  that  they  had 
not  yet  thoroughly  "  done "  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  a  visit  to  the  Chinese  theatre, 
in  the  Chinese  quarter,  would  be  some- 
thing new  at  all  events,  and  would  show 
them  something  unlike  what  they  had 
seen  before.  So  the  opera  or  academy 
of  music,  as  many  towns  in  America  love 
to  call  that  institution,  was  left  for  an- 
other day,  and  the  carriages  were  ordered 
to  set  the  party  down  in  the  "  Celestial's  " 
part  of  the  city. 


irom  Shadow  10  Gunliglit.       71 

A  very  ill -formed  part  it  was,  with 
many  wooden  houses,  little  better  than 
shanties,  a  contrast  to  the  vast  blocks  of 
handsome  buildings  of  which  most  of  this 
city  was  built.  To  be  sure,  the  preva- 
lence of  earthquakes,  mild  in  character 
as  these  generally  are,  might  make  many 
a  nervous  person  prefer  a  single  storied 
building  to  one  containing  many  floors, 
as  escape  would  be  easier ;  but  there  are 
too  many  brick  and  stone  buildings  to 
allow  one  to  imagine  that  the  occasional 
danger  exercises  much  influence  on  the 
minds  of  the  inhabitants.  Along  the 
sides  of  the  streets  into  which  the  party 
now  penetrated  there  were  many  low 
shops  and  dingy  counters,  protected  from 
sun  and  rain  by  a  roof  of  projecting 
boards,  supported  from  the  floor  of  the 
side-walk  by  posts,  against  which  Chinese 
loungers  leaned,  wearing  the  familiar  pig- 
tail, and  clad  in  long,  loose  dresses  of 
black  or  dark  blue.  Usually  there  were 


72       .front  Shaboro  lo  Sunlight. 

no  shoes  on  their  feet,  but  every  now  and 
then  a  richer  man  passed,  his  drapery  of 
finer  stuff,  and  white  shoes  on  his  feet, 
turned  up  at  the  toes  like  the  prow  of  an 
old-fashioned  boat. 

The  theatre  itself  was  a  long  dark  par- 
allelogram, with  a  gallery,  the  ends  of 
which  nearest  the  stage  were  divided  off 
into  small  partitions.  Lamps  of  the  most 
ordinary  kind  gave  just  enough  light  to 
enable  persons  entering  to  see  their  way 
to  rough  benches,  which  were  always  well 
filled  with  a  crowd  of  Chinese  working- 
men.  They  sat  very  silently  awaiting  the 
commencement  of  the  piece  which  had 
always  been  proceeding  to  develop  its 
story  during  three  or  four  of  the  preced- 
ing evenings.  One  peculiarity  of  the  act- 
ing struck  a  stranger  as  curious  when  the 
acting  began. 

There  was  no  attempt  to  keep  the 
"  wings "  or  sides  of  the  stage  free  of 
those  who  were  not  acting,  although  they 


Jrom  Shabmn  to  Sunlight.       73 

might  have  been  friends  of  the  actors. 
They  indulged  their  curiosity  as  much  as 
they  chose,  by  standing  in  deep  rows, 
and  laughing  or  cheering  the  action  of 
the  drama. 

Another  peculiarity  consisted  in  a  band 
of  musicians,  if  this  term  of  flattery  for  a 
knot  of  men  making  hideous  noises  be 
permissible,  being  stationed  in  the  very 
center  of  the  stage.  In  front  of  them  the 
actors  who  conducted  the  story  recited 
their  parts  in  a  loose  fashion,  that  sug- 
gested they  were  improvising  as  they  went 
on.  The  applause  from  the  audience  was 
occasionally  loud  and  hearty,  especially 
was  a  droll  fellow,  who  often  came  for- 
ward to  make  jokes,  rewarded  with  plenti- 
ful laughter.  There  seemed  to  be  only 
one  woman  in  the  cast,  and  all  the  other 
characters  made  love  to  her,  a  method  of 
insuring  "  the  unities  "  which  allowed  the 
play  to  be  indefinitely  protracted,  and  yet 
kept  the  interest  circling  round  the  lovely 


74       from  Shaboto  to 


female,  who,  as  far  as  the  assemblage  in 
the  house  was  concerned,  seemed  to  be 
the  only  Chinese  woman  in  'Frisco.  There 
must  have  been  others  somewhere,  but 
they  were  apparently  not  so  clamorous 
for  boxes  and  stalls  as  are  their  paler  sis- 
ters of  our  race.  There  was  no  attempt 
at  scenic  decoration,  although  in  more 
luxurious  theatres  it  is  said  that  this  is 
being  introduced.  Like  the  plays  of  the 
classical  day  of  Italy  and  Greece,  and 
like  those  of  our  own  Shakespeare,  the 
diction  was  supposed  to  be  entrancing 
enough  without  such  meretricious  attrac- 
tions. And  then,  as  the  Chinese  clown 
in  shrill  tones  and  with  ludicrous  gestures 
straddled  on  the  stage  front,  and  was 
every  now  and  again  succeeded  by  this 
single  and  singular  woman,  who  had  all 
the  Chinese  world  at  her  feet,  a  light 
which  did  not  come  from  the  stage  but 
from  overhead  made  the  audience  look 
up,  a  shower  of  sparks  fell  among  them, 


,from  6hab0to  to  Sunlight.       75 

making  them  start  to  their  feet,  then 
came  more  sparks  and  a  bright  outflush 
of  flame  overhead.  There  was  a  quitting 
of  the  stage  by  those  upon  it,  and  men 
were  soon  heard  tearing  at  the  roof, 
which  blazed  up  ever  brighter  and  bright- 
er. Then  a  babel  of  tongues  that  had 
begun  as  soon  as  the  fire  was  seen  was 
lost  in  loud  cries  of  terror,  and  the  panic- 
stricken  Chinamen  rushed  to  the  entrance 
doorway  below,  while  those  in  the  gal- 
leries, who  from  their  position  were  nearer 
the  fire,  and  had  at  first  observed  it,  were 
screaming  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  dash- 
ing over  each  other,  struggling  to  be  first 
to  reach  the  creaky  stairway. 

It  was  an  appalling  scene,  for  it  was 
evident  that  the  men  above  had  done 
nothing  to  stop  the  misfortune,  which 
now  threatened  irredeemable  disaster. 
The  party  from  the  hotel  had  risen  from 
where  they  sat,  the  chief  figure  among 
them  being  a  father  and  daughter,  who 


76       from  Shaooto  to  Sunlight. 

stood  holding  each  other's  hands,  pale 
and  silent  amid  the  tumult,  but  really 
terrified  like  the  rest,  for  imminent  death 
appeared  to  stare  them  in  the  face.  It 
was  evident  that  no  egress  was  possible 
by  the  door  crammed  with  frantic  strug- 
gling Chinamen. 

Then  suddenly  a  thoroughly  Californian 
figure,  a  man  spare,  and  agile,  and  of 
good  stature,  with  a  sombrero-like  hat 
on  his  head,  and  long  fair  hair  showing 
on  his  neck,  sprang  toward  them,  climbed 
the  railing  that  divided  their  portion  of 
the  gallery  from  the  pit  below,  and  in  a 
moment  had  taken  the  old  man's  arm, 
and  hurried  him  and  his  daughter  toward 
the  side  wall.  There  at  one  corner  was 
a  low  door  closed  and  fastened — a  door 
that  none  had  looked  for  or  observed. 
This  yielded  at  once  to  the  weight  of  his 
shoulder,  and  in  another  minute  they 
were  all  outside  the  burning  building, 
and  on  a  roof  whence  they  could  reach 


from  Bhabora  ta  Sunlight.       77 

one  of  the  veranda-like  boardings  over 
the  street  side-walk.  Letting  himself 
down  first,  he  bade  them  one  after  the 
other  leap  down  to  him,  and,  receiving 
them  safely  in  his  wiry  arms,  they  found 
themselves  breathless,  but  unhurt,  in  the 
roadway. 

Mary  Wincott,  for  it  was  she  and  her 
father  who  had  so  narrowly  escaped,  was 
pale  enough  still  and  trembled  a  good 
deal,  nor  could  she  at  first  summon  voice 
to  thank  their  guide,  who  now  asked  them 
if  they  were  at  the  Palace  Hotel,  in  a 
manner  happy  enough,  but  as  though 
trying  to  suppress  the  intense  excitement 
under  which  his  voice  labored. 

"  Well,  I'll  show  you  the  way,"  he  said, 
in  reply  to  their  answer,  and  striding  by 
their  side,  with  his  wide  hat  framing  a 
handsome  face,  he  said  not  another  word 
until  they  reached  the  hotel  door,  when 
he  saluted  them,  and  would  have  left  had 
not  Mr.  Wincott  pressed  his  hand,  and 


78       from  ShabcrtD  10  Snnligljt. 

told  him  that  he  must  ask  him  to  come 
again  as  soon  as  possible  to  receive  their 
thanks  for  his  most  opportune  appearance 
and  assistance.  A  more  impetuous  mem- 
ber of  the  group  broke  in. 

"Why,  yes,  sir.  If  you  hadn't  come 
we  should  all  have  been  crisps  by  this 
time." 

The  Californian  smiled  and  said  he 
would  have  the  pleasure  of  again  call- 
ing, and,  with  a  low  bow  to  Miss  Wincott, 
departed.  They  met  very  soon  again, 
for  the  next  morning  brought  a  number 
of  callers  to  congratulate  them  on  their 
escape,  and  among  them  was  the  man 
who  had  saved  their  lives.  When  he  en- 
tered and  found  others  in  the  room  he 
seemed  disconcerted  and  annoyed,  but 
Miss  Mary  soon  put  him  more  at  ease, 
for  nothing  could  be  more  graceful  and 
charming  than  the  tact  and  cordiality 
with  which  she  made  her  acknowledg- 
ments. 


.from  Shob0io  to  Smtlight.       79 

How  was  it,  she  asked,  that  when  so 
few  white  men  were  in  the  theatre  he 
should  have  been  there — just  at  the  right 
time  ?  And  how  was  it  that  he  had  at 
once  thought  of  the  closed  door  by  which 
escape  had  become  possible  ? 

"Oh,"  he  answered,  in  a  voice  that,  to 
their  Eastern  ears,  seemed  very  Califor- 
nian  or  European,  for  it  came  from  the 
chest,  and  the  enunciation  was  different 
than  it  often  is  in  the  older  States,  "  I 
have  always  taken  a  deep  interest  in  all 
Old  World  matters,  and  the  oldest  of  Old 
World  things  can  be  found  among  the 
Chinese;  thus  I  often  go  to  see  their 
plays,  and  have  even  learned  something 
of  their  language.  I  knew  the  building 
intimately,  having  been  there  night  after 
night.  You  probably  did  not  think  of 
this  when  listening  for  a  time  to  their 
somewhat  cumbrous  play,  but  it  is  a  fact 
that,  of  all  spectacles  presented  to  living 
eyes,  a  Chinese  play  is  probably  the  most 


8o       .from  ShafootD  to  Sunlight. 

unchanged  from  the  earliest  times.  Of 
course,  there  may  have  been  minor  modi- 
fications in  the  art,  but  essentially  the 
stage  as  they  have  it  now  is  what  they 
had  when  Greece  and  Rome  were  not, 
and  we  have  to  go  back  to  Egyptian  or 
even  Assyrian  times  for  anything  like  it. 
Indeed,  when  the  dim  dynasties  of  these 
ancient  realms  were  not,  China  was.  The 
music  you  heard  at  that  theatre,  the  main 
features  of  the  representation,  were  the 
earliest  growth  of  civilization." 

"  Well,  certainly,  I  never  thought  of 
that,"  said  Mary,  "  except  that  the  funny 
man  who  made  the  people  laugh  was 
much  like  an  ordinary  clown,  in  the  by 
play  and  jokes  he  was  perpetually  mak- 
ing." 

"  Yes,  we  must  have  got  our  clown 
from  the  far  East,  but  I  do  not  think  that 
he  existed  on  the  classic  stage  of  North- 
ern Europe." 

"  I  did  not  think  that  you  in  California 


from  Qhaboro  to  Sunlight.       81 

interested  yourselves  so  much  in  such 
things,"  said  Mary,  in  some  wonder,  as 
she  looked  up  at  the  refined  and  eager 
face  of  this  man,  who  seemed  an  odd 
mixture  of  ranchman  and  reader,  "but 
perhaps  you  have  stayed  for  some  years 
abroad  ? " 

"  Oh,  nobody  stays  very  long  in  San 
Francisco,  for  pleasant  as  the  coast  is,  it 
becomes  monotonous,  and  one  longs  after 
a  time  for  some  real  winter  again,"  he 
answered  evasively. 

"  I,  too,  am  very  fond  of  reading,  and  I 
hope  you  will  be  able  to  come  to  see  us 
and  talk  over  our  experiences  of  foreign 
travel,"  she  replied  frankly,  "  for  you  are 
resident  here  now  ? " 

She  could  not  conceal  her  curiosity. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  have  come  up 
just  in  time  as  it  turned  out,  from  some 
way  down  the  coast,  where  the  old  mis- 
sions of  Los  Angeles,  and  Santa  Barbara, 
and  Monterey  interested  me  so  much  that 


82       from  Shabott)  to  0mtiight. 

I  remained  long  at  those  places,  which 
were  before  unknown  to  me.  If  you  wish 
to  see  the  most  enchanting  portion  of 
this  coast  you  should  visit  Monterey, 
where  a  perpetual  sunshine  illuminates 
beautiful  woods  of  sycamore,  and,  above 
all,  a  great  grove  of  cedar,  like  those  of 
Lebanon.  The  pines  clothe  the  hillside 
for  some  miles,  and  grow  close  to  the 
water's  edge,  so  that  the  breakers  of  the 
Pacific  fling  their  spray  among  the  ter- 
raced boughs.  I  wish  I  could  have  lived 
in  the  days  of  the  old  Spanish  rule,  when 
first  the  Christian  evangel  was  brought 
by  the  fathers  to  the  Indians  who  dwelt 
in  numbers  on  the  coast,  living  on  fish 
and  the  flesh  of  the  Haleotis  shell.  They 
were  brave  men  who  first  landed  in  those 
sunlit  bays,  and  one  of  them  probably  in 
gratitude  for  safety  after  some  adventure 
by  sea,  made  his  Indians  build  his  church 
so  that  the  interior  of  it  looks  like  the 
inside  of  a  ship,  the  buttressed  ribs  curv- 


.from  Shflfooto  to  Stmlijjht.       83 

ing  from  floor  to  roof.  I  liked  to  stand 
there  in  that  early  church,  now  ruined, 
and  to  fancy  the  work  of  the  raising  of 
God's  Temple  by  the  natives  with  their 
feather  ornaments  on  their  heads,  their 
copper-colored  skins  glowing  with  the  ex- 
ertions as  they  placed  the  stones  or  hard- 
ened clay  bricks,  the  priest  encouraging 
them,  and  near  at  hand  a  group  of  Span- 
ish soldiery  with  the  front  and  back 
curved  steel  morion  on  their  heads,  their 
rich  doublets,  and  trunk  hose,  with  pikes 
and  arquebuses  over  their  shoulders. 
For  there  had  been  hostile  natives  to  en- 
counter, men  who  had  come  from  the 
great  woods  in  the  mountains  of  the  in- 
terior, and  the  Spaniards  had  experience 
enough  in  the  heavy  fighting  which  they 
had  to  face  in  the  South,  in  Peru  and 
Mexico,  to  know  that  the  arm  of  the  flesh 
must  protect  the  saints." 

He  spoke  all  this  with  what  seemed  to 
Mary  a  strange  enthusiasm,  but  it  inter- 


84       .from  Shadow  to  Stmlight. 

ested  her,  and  made  her  still  more  curious 
in  regard  to  the  speaker,  whose  face,  fig- 
ure, and  manner,  she  admired.  She  liked 
to  listen  to  his  talk,  and  was  yet  struck 
with  the  embarrassment  that  occasionally 
overtook  him,  as  though  he  feared  to  be- 
tray himself  by  the  very  eagerness  with 
which  he  pursued  a  subject  that  engrossed 
his  mind  for  a  time.  Betray  what  ?  That 
was  the  question  that  arose  in  her  mind. 
What  was  there  to  conceal  ?  Why  for 
instance  should  he  suddenly  have  ceased 
to  pursue  in  speech  the  thoughts  that  had 
once  led  him  after  the  meetings  had  be- 
come frequent,  to  talk  to  her  on  the 
teaching  he  thought  best  for  a  younger 
brother  of  her  own,  who  had  just  entered 
the  military  academy  of  the  States  at 
West  Point  ?  He  had  delivered  with  ardor 
a  long  discourse  on  the  best  manner  of 
preparing  a  youth  to  encounter  the  bat- 
tles of  life,  and  then  some  doubt  or  hesita- 
tion seemed  to  seize  him,  and  he  stopped, 


from  Shabmn  ta  Sunlight.       85 

giving  some  lame  apology,  obviously  not 
felt  as  real  by  the  speaker. 

"  Ah,  but  my  views  on  such  things  can't 
interest  you,  Miss  Wincott,  and  I  should 
not  have  ventured  to  bore  you  with 
them ! " 

She  felt  he  knew  she  was  not  bored 
with  them,  and  yet  in  one  so  young  as 
himself  it  seemed  to  her  so  odd  that  he 
should  have  cared  to  think  so  much 
either  about  missions  to  ancient  heathen 
or  of  the  training  to  be  given  to  boys  in 
the  United  States.  What  on  earth  could 
have  made  this  eccentric  young  Califor- 
nian  keen  on  such  points  ?  And  why  again 
did  he  seem  not  to  care  to  discuss  them 
with  others  in  whom  it  might  naturally 
be  expected  he  would  find  congenial 
companions  and  controversialists  ?  For 
he  had  on  one  or  two  occasions  when  she 
had  offered  to  introduce  him  to  men  of 
culture  and  distinction,  said  he  would  far 
rather  talk  with  her  on  such  things,  than 


86       from  Bhafcow  la  Snnlighi. 

with  them.  Yet  he  had  not  pressed  these 
subjects,  for  the  talk  had  naturally  led  to 
them,  and  he  was  quite  as  much  at  home 
and  seemed  more  at  ease,  although  less 
engrossed  with  the  cause  of  talk,  when 
conversation  fell  on  horses,  sport,  botany, 
or  the  natural  beauties  of  the  wonderful 
land  in  which  they  then  found  themselves. 
He  had  given  his  name  as  Chisholm — 
Walter  Chisholm — and  was  obviously  a 
man  of  education,  and  one  who  had  en- 
joyed opportunities  of  travel  and  of  life 
generally,  which  are  not  often  given  to 
men  less  wealthy,  and  that  he  had  made 
the  best  of  his  chances  to  enrich  his 
mind. 

They  made  an  excursion  together  to 
the  Yosemite  Valley  to  see  the  "  Welling- 
tonias,"  as  he  accidentally  called  the  gi- 
gantic Sequoias.  "  Washingtonias,"  you 
mean,  she  had  said,  and  the  incident  led 
to  an  explanation.  They  had  sat  to- 
gether on  the  stage,  as  it  swung  at  a 


from  ShafcutD  to  Snnlight.       87 

canter  round  the  buffs,  where  the  road  has 
a  mountain  on  one  side  and  a  precipice  on 
the  other,  and  she  had  recounted  some  of 
her  European  adventures  of  travel  to 
him,  and  he  on  his  part  had  shown  that 
the  scenes  she  described  were  familiar  to 
him. 

"  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Chisholm,  I  don't 
believe  you  are  a  Californian  at  all,  but 
an  old  countryman,"  she  exclaimed,  "  and 
you're  saying  *  Wellingtonia '  in  naming 
our  big  trees  is  most  outlandish.  Now 
tell  me,  when  did  you  come  to  Cali- 
fornia?" 

"  Well,  not  so  very  long  ago,"  he  an- 
swered, and  on  the  following  day  Mary's 
father  had  taken  occasion  to  rally  him 
gravely  on  his  British  nomenclature. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Wincott,"  he  said,  lightly, 
"  we  get  back  into  old  habits  sometimes, 
and  I  have  not  escaped  the  failing.  Who 
would  have  thought  it  possible  that  the 
Britishers  would  have  had  the  effrontery 


88       from  01)  O&CHD  to  Snnligljt. 

to  call  the  biggest  plants  in  America 
after  Wellington,  especially  when  they 
had  been  appropriated  by  native  bota- 
nists to  the  glory  of  the  great  Virginian  ?" 

"  But  are  you  not  a  Britisher  your- 
self?" Mr.  Wincott  said,  and  Chisholm 
replied: 

"  Since  you  ask  me  the  question,  I  am, 
although  I  am  not  sure  that  I  shall  not 
settle  altogether  in  some  one  of  these 
beautiful  valleys,  for  I  like  the  freedom 
of  the  life,  and  the  scenery  is  most  fasci- 
nating. I  fear,  however,  that  duties  will 
call  me  back  to  Britain,  where  my  home 
used  to  be,  and  may  have  to  be  again." 

He  spoke  with  a  certain  regret  not  un- 
noticed by  the  shrewd  American,  who 
had  for  some  time  past  wished  to  know 
more  of  the  young  man  to  whom  they 
owed  so  much,  who  had  now  been  so 
much  thrown  with  his  daughter.  He  sus- 
pected that  he  did  not  belong  to  the 
"  Pacific  Slope,"  and  the  cast  of  mind  he 


from  Shafcmn  to  Sunlight.       89 

had  observed  in  him  did  not  suit  the  wav- 
ing locks,  and  what  one  of  his  temporary 
companions  was  pleased  to  call  "  that  lan- 
guage in  his  hat."  Now  that  he  confessed 
himself  to  be  only  a  sojourner  in  the 
land,  although  knowing  it  better  than 
many  who  had  been  born  there,  he  showed 
the  adaptability  of  his  character  by  join- 
ing in  any  joke,  even  though  it  went 
against  himself.  Thus  his  enthusiasm  for 
many  things  was  sometimes  a  cause  of 
fun  among  his  new  acquaintances,  and 
in  especial  his  apparent  love  of  authority, 
and  reverence  for  those  he  conceived  to 

be  above  him*  in  station  was  the  cause  of 

* 

much  good-humored  merriment  among 
the  young  Republicans.  He  was  not  at 
all  hurt  at  their  want  of  comprehension 
of  his  temperament  in  this  respect,  and 
laughingly  told  them  that  he  did  not  be- 
lieve they  would  look  up  even  at  the  big 
trees  when  they  were  among  them,  or 
acknowledge  them  to  be  one  whit  taller 


90       ,from  ShafcoiD  to  Stmlight. 

than  the  travelers  themselves.  He  used 
to  declare  that  the  subservience  shown 
to  dignitaries,  whether  of  the  church  or 
state,  was  not  personal  service,  but  the 
outward  form  of  regard  paid  to  a  belief 
or  a  cause.  One  or  two  of  the  others 
professed  to  admire  this,  but  could  not 
understand  it,  although,  to  be  sure,  the 
eldest  said,  "  It  is  the  case  in  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church,  and  I  have  seen  a  little 
feeling  expressed  in  Canada  in  regard  to 
the  monarchy." 

"  Yes,"  said  Chisholm,  with  a  proud 
look  in  his  eyes,  "there  are  many  who 
would  sacrifice  themselves  for  their  faith 
or  their  prince." 

"Well,  for  my  part,  I  understand  doing 
anything  for  a  principle,  but  nothing  for 
a  prince." 

"  I  think  I  could  die  for  my  sovereign," 
said  Chisholm,  in  a  low  voice,  and  the 
other,  eying  him  with  a  painstaking  as- 
tonishment, could  only  reply,  slowly : 


from  Shalom  to  Stmlight.       91 

"  Indeed — you  don't  say  so — that  must 
be  an  interesting  sensation,"  and  added, 
with  partial  assent,  "I've  known  men 
ready  to  die  for  a  dollar,  which  I  take  to 
be  less  than  a  sovereign." 

But  he  became  a  great  favorite  with 
his  new  friends,  who  were  only  five  in 
number,  nay,  her  father,  a  young  brother, 
and  another  couple,  who  had  all  come 
from  New  England.  He  had  never  vol- 
unteered to  speak  to  them  of  himself, 
nor  had  he  ever  by  anything  that  he  had 
said  assumed  any  front  position,  although 
his  bearing  and  manner  gave  the  impres- 
sion that  he  was  a  gentleman  by  birth. 
He  appeared,  indeed,  at  first  too  much 
occupied  with  intellectual  pursuits  to 
heed  much  in  what  light  others  regarded 
him.  It  was  only  after  a  time,  when  he 
had  obviously  felt  the  attraction  of 
Mary's  society,  and  had  yielded  to  the 
magic  of  her  presence,  that  he  had  seemed 
anxious  to  conceal  that  which  puzzled 


92       from  Shaboio  to  Sunlight. 

Mr.  Wincott,  namely,  the  undoubted  aver- 
sion he  manifested  against  meeting  any 
of  his  own  countrymen,  that  is,  any  Eng- 
lish or  Scotch,  whom  he  might  happen  to 
hear  were  likely  to  recognize  him.  This 
peculiarity  became  a  source  of  curiosity 
to  Mr.  Wincott  when  they  returned  to 
the  city,  and  he  could  not  avoid  feeling 
some  degree  of  prejudice  against  the 
young  man  in  consequence  of  it.  There 
had  been  so  many  English  adventurers 
calling  themselves  by  all  the  good  names 
known  in  England,  who  had  presumed  on 
the  ignorance  of  Americans,  and  who  had 
admitted  without  question  into  their  so- 
ciety, had,  in  several  cases  known  to  Mr. 
Wincott,  grossly  abused  the  courtesy  and 
hospitality  accorded  to  them. 

But  with  Chisholm  the  case  was  re- 
versed. He  had  never  even  mentioned 
his  own  name  until  pressed  to  do  so,  nor 
had  he  seemed  at  first  especially  desirous 
of  making  the  most  of  the  opportunity 


from  ShafcoiD  to  Sunlight.       93 

he  had  to  continue  an  acquaintance  begun 
under  circumstances  so  terrible,  and  plac- 
ing his  new  -  found  friends  under  such 
great  obligations  to  him.  Now,  indeed, 
it  was  different,  and  he  made  the  most 
of  his  time,  and  was  evidently  anxious  to 
see  as  much  as  he  could  of  Mary.  She, 
on  her  side,  was  as  evidently  interested 
and  charmed  by  him,  and  would  listen 
with  most  unwonted  attention  and  pa- 
tience while  he  talked.  Another  matter 
which  Mr.  Wincott  had  observed  was 
that  Mr.  Chisholm  was  exceedingly  well 
lodged,  and  was  therefore  evidently  a 
man  of  some  means.  He  thought,  also, 
that  he  must  be  a  man  of  some  distinc- 
tion, for  he  had  let  fall  observations  with 
regard  to  men  and  things  that  induced 
his  listener  to  believe  that  he  had  seen 
"many  men  and  cities,"  in  a  way  not 
open  to  those  who  had  not  good  creden- 
tials. It  seemed,  also,  that  it  was  rather 
in  regard  to  a  wish,  felt  for  change  of 


94       -from  Shadow  to  Sunlight. 

society,  than  to  any  other  feeling  that 
the  avoidance  of  old  countrymen  was 
adopted.  Chisholm  seemed  to  be  tired 
of  his  former  life,  and  to  be  seeking  in 
the  new  world  variety  and  difference, 
rather  than  any  associations  with  his  pre- 
vious career,  whatever  that  may  have 
been.  The  exception  to  this  existed  in 
his  liking  all  forms  of  religious  observ- 
ance, and  in  his  great  curiosity  in  refer- 
ence to  languages  and  customs.  For 
these  things  he  showed  the  zeal  of  a 
scholar  combined  with  the  enthusiasm  of 
a  priest.  He  rather  surprised  Mr.  Win- 
cott  by  telling  him  that  he,  too,  wished 
to  go  again  eastward,  and,  as  he  knew 
that  the  party  he  had  rescued  meant  soon 
to  be  going  homeward,  he  proposed  that 
they  should  take  steamer  to  the  mouth 
of  the  magnificent  Columbia  River,  ascend 
that  stream,  and  then  from  some  point  on 
Washington  State  cross  over  to  Vancou- 
ver's Island,  and  finally  take  the  Canadian 


from  Sha&crw  to  Stmlight.       95 

Pacific  route  back  to  the  Atlantic  States. 
Wincott  liked  the  idea,  and  the  proposal 
removed  from  his  mind  one  last  doubt 
in  regard  to  his  friend,  for  if  there  were 
anything  personally  unpleasant  to  Chis- 
holm  in  his  intercourse  with  Englishmen 
on  account  of  any  remembrances  of  the 
past,  why  should  this  project  be  started, 
a  plan  that  would  inevitably  throw  him 
among  many  who  would  recognize  and 
know  all  about  him  if  he  were  a  person 
who  had  been  known  in  English  society. 
Miss  Wincott  did  not  give  enough  credit 
to  the  ignorance  of  Canadians  on  such 
matters,  an  ignorance  as  great  as  that 
prevailing  among  Americans.  It  was, 
however,  likely  that  Chisholm  might  find 
quite  as  many  Englishmen  likely  to  know 
him  in  Canada  as  in  Italy,  now  that  the 
world-famous  railway  line  of  Canada  had 
attracted  so  many  tourists  on  account  of 
the  comfort  it  gave  its  passengers,  and 
the  wonderful  scenery  it  allowed  them  to 


96       .front  BhaootD  to  Sunlight. 

witness  in  such  perfect  comfort  and  se- 
curity. Mary  took  up  the  idea  of  an 
alternative  route  for  their  return  with 
enthusiasm.  She  said  she  had  had  quite 
enough  of  those  horrid  alkali  plains 
through  which  the  line  from  Omaha  to 
'Frisco  had  taken  them.  The  brief 
glimpse  of  the  fine  woods  after  they  had 
crossed  the  Rockies  was  but  a  poor  com- 
pensation for  the  dullness  of  the  desert, 
which  the  Mormon  communities  at  Ogden 
and  Salt  Lake  had,  to  her  mind,  alto- 
gether failed  to  enliven.  They  were 
then  all  of  one  purpose,  and  although  a 
sea-voyage  was  a  thing  which  was  not  so 
acceptable  as  the  rest  of  the  programme, 
a  fine  morning  in  the  early  autumn  found 
them  embarked  on  a  good  steamer,  and 
quitting  the  golden  gates  of  the  wind- 
vexed  harbor  of  'Frisco  for  the  mouth  of 
the  alp-girdled  torrents  of  the  Columbia. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  vessel  leaped  into  the  joyous 
waters,  past  the  fort-guarded  bluffs,  and 
Mary,  her  young  brother,  and  Chisholm 
found  that  for  a  day  or  more  they  would 
practically  have  the  deck  entirely  to 
themselves.  The  future  cadet  of  West 
Point,  young  Wincott,  found  also  that 
the  company  of  the  officers  of  the  ship 
was  quite  as  lively  as  was  that  of  his 
sister  and  her  friend,  engaged  in  conver- 
sation which  was  far  too  learned  for  any 
participation.  He  didn't  a  bit  mind 
listening  for  a  time,  when  Chisholm 
spoke  of  his  travels,  and  narrated  what 
he  had  seen  in  many  strange  lands,  but 
when  he  began  to  talk  at  length  of  what 
all  these  good  folks  believed  in  the  way 
7 


98       ,fr0m  Seaborn  ta  Sunlight. 

of  religion,  and  when  he  sat  for  a  long 
time  quite  silent  and  only  looking  at  his 
sister,  who  again  became,  if  possible, 
more  contemplative,  and  when  both 
finally  not  only  silently  agreed  not  to 
talk,  but  would  not  answer  him  when  he 
began  to  hold  forth  on  the  most  interest- 
ing subjects;  then,  indeed,  he  thought 
that  the  sooner  the  rest  recovered  from 
their  sea-sickness  the  more  pleasant  and 
sociable  it  would  be  for  all  concerned. 
To  do  him  justice,  he  did  not  interrupt 
either  their  silence  or  their  conversation, 
the  only  exception  taking  place  on  the 
second  day  of  the  voyage,  when  he  rushed 
#ft  to  tell  them  of  a  "  splendid  sight," 
namely,  a  whole  army  of  porpoises  which 
were  breaking  the  water  just  ahead  of 
them.  Mary  went  to  the  side  of  the  ves- 
sel, and  with  her  two  companions  gazed 
in  astonishment  at  the  curious  spectacle. 
Almost  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach, 
along  the  slowly  heaving  waters,  a  long 


.from  0l)aoott)  to  Bmtlight.       99 

line  of  porpoises  appeared,  flinging  them- 
selves out  of  the  rolling  swell,  and  ad- 
vancing northward  in  an  orderly  array. 
She  had  seen  single  individuals,  or  groups 
of  a  few  together  follow  a  ship  in  the 
Atlantic,  but  here  the  creatures  took  no 
heed  of  the  steamer,  but  in  their  immense 
numbers  kept  an  even  front  for  miles 
along  the  ocean,  plunging  forward  as 
they  follow  some  mysterious  instinct  of 
migration.  The  ship  soon  passed  through 
them  and  left  them  far  behind,  and  now 
the  voyagers  were  close  to  the  entrance 
of  the  river,  but  a  strong  gale  arose,  and 
made  the  captain  shake  his  head  when  he 
looked  to  windward. 

"  I'll  try  it  anyhow,"  he  said,  "  for  I 
have  often  got  over  the  bar  in  worse 
weather." 

Then  before  the  evening  had  made 
navigation  more  difficult,  the  vessel 
headed  in  toward  the  long  line  of  break- 
ers which  marked  the  dreaded  bar  of  the 


ioo     .from  Sljaboto  la  Stmligfjt. 

Columbia.  To  landsmen  the  passage  of 
this  place  in  stormy  weather  always  ap- 
pears a  miracle.  Nothing  is  visible  of 
the  comparatively  smooth  channel,  which 
if  hit  off  cleverly  gives  a  safe  entrance 
among  the  white  tossing  waves,  whose 
angry  moan  of  thunder  fills  the  mind 
with  terror.  The  ship  seems  to  be  go- 
ing to  certain  destruction.  The  land, 
mountainous  as  it  is,  appears  far  off,  be- 
cause the  shore  is  flat  for  some  distance, 
and  the  eye  rests  only  on  the  white  com- 
motion of  the  surge.  The  passengers 
from  San  Francisco  were  all  on  deck,  for 
the  moment  was  too  interesting  and  ex- 
citing to  allow  any  to  remain  below,  and 
from  where  they  stood  the  waves  rose 
high  above  them  as  they  rushed  past. 
The  steamer  swayed  one  way  and  then 
another,  rolled  and  was  carried  bodily 
forward,  as  the  great  creamy  hillocks 
dashed  under  her,  and  bore  her  along. 
They  were  soon  in  the  very  thick  of  the 


.from  SI] aboro  to  Gunligljt.      101 

turmoil,  and  they  gazed  at  the  toppling 
crests  as  each  hurried  on,  apparently  de- 
sirous to  choke  and  fill  the  watery  lane 
that  yawned  between  it  and  its  immediate 
predecessor  in  the  awful  race  for  the 
sand-bar ;  and  they  looked  amidships 
where,  quietly  and  calmly  the  officers  and 
men  at  the  wheel  were  gathered,  watch- 
ing the  conduct  of  their  vessel  as  they 
did  what  they  could  to  guide  her.  This 
was  most  difficult,  for  the  vast  hollows 
made  under  her  stern  when  a  wave  had 
passed,  and  the  next  had  not  yet  come, 
made  the  propeller  revolve  with  a  whir- 
ling jar  which  shook  the  ship  from  stem 
to  stern,  while  the  billows  that  threw  her 
forward  with  the  set  of  the  wind  appeared 
to  laugh  at  the  attempts  made  to  direct 
the  toy  of  wood  and  iron  which  they 
tossed  about  in  derision.  There  was 
soon  an  instant  of  dreadful  suspense, 
when  a  heavy  shock  told  them  that  they 
had  struck  the  sand,  and  the  momentary 


102     ^from  0hafo0tn  to  Sunlight. 

pause  on  the  way  of  the  steamer  caused 
a  wave  to  fall  in  hissing  masses  over  the 
stern,  and  to  sweep  forward  in  a  volume 
that  would  have  carried  all  before  it  if 
the  precaution  of  having  everything  well 
lashed  had  not  been  taken.  The  passen- 
gers were  behind  deck-houses  that  broke 
the  force  of  the  water,  and  saved  them 
from  being  swept  away.  The  next  mo- 
ment another  mountainous  breaker  roared 
at  them,  as  though  to  engulf  them,  but  it 
lifted  the  vessel,  and  she  floated  free 
again,  swept  on  with  the  speed  of  wave 
and  wind. 

"  Now  we  are  probably  safe,"  said 
Chisholm ;  and  so  it  proved.  Each 
minute  made  it  apparent  that  the  deeper 
channel  they  had  entered  lay  behind  the 
ridge  of  sand  which  had  so  nearly  wrecked 
them.  The  screw  revolved  more  regu- 
larly, catching  the  surface  no  more  with 
only  brief  snatches;  the  billows  no  longer 
mounted  high  alongside  and  roared  them- 


.from  SfyaibotD  to  Smtlight.     103 

selves  hoarse  as  they  raced  forward.  It 
was  evident  that  the  dire  commotion  was 
being  left  astern,  and  that  the  ship  was 
not  any  longer  being  overtaken  by  it. 
Yes,  the  bar  of  the  Columbia  lay  behind 
them.  The  near  peril  that  had  threat- 
ened their  lives  so  short  a  while  ago,  was 
over.  They  hardly  realized  as  yet  that 
they  were  saved.  But  as  soon  as  they 
did  so,  and  smooth  water  was  really 
reached,  an  audible  "  Thank  God  !  "  was 
breathed  from  every  lip.  It  was,  indeed, 
a  signal  mercy  that  had  rescued  them 
from  the  terrible  bar,  and  in  spite  of 
some  mistake  as  to  the  exact  spot  of  the 
true  channel,  had  carried  them  unharmed 
over  a  place  where  many  a  vessel  had 
been  destroyed.  The  captain  had  cer- 
tainly been  foolhardy  in  attempting  the 
passage  at  all,  when  he  might  have  pro- 
ceeded up  the  coast  to  the  secure  en- 
trance to  the  wide  straits  of  San  Juan  de 
Fuca,  and  he  himself  was  by  no  means 


104     .from  Shadow  to  Snnlight. 

anxious  to  hide  the  relief  he  felt,  for  now 
that  the  tension  was  over,  he  became 
talkative  and  "  smokative,"  if  such  an  ex- 
pression may  be  used,  and  consumed 
about  thirty  cigars  during  the  next  few 
hours,  burning  half  and  then  chewing  the 
remainder  of  each.  The  others,  in  whom 
we  are  more  immediately  interested,  were 
inclined  to  say  very  little,  but  were  de- 
voutly thankful  that  what  had  seemed 
imminent  death  was  passed. 

Mary  and  Chisholm  went  below,  for 
darkness  had  now  come  on,  and  the  cheer- 
ful lights  below  were  more  attractive 
than  the  deck,  with  the  monstrous  gloom 
spread  around  it. 

"  How  strange,"  said  Chisholm,  "  that 
in  so  short  a  space  of  time  your  journey 
should  have  brought  you  into  peril  by 
fire  and  by  flood !  I  fear  that  you  must 
consider  me  a  man  to  bring  ill  luck,  for 
you  had  no  such  dangers  except  when  I 
was  present." 


.from  Shabow  la  Sunlight.     105 

"  If  the  luck  always  turns  out  so  for- 
tunately, I  don't  think  I  shall  mind  your 
presence  much,"  was  the  answer,  with  a 
quick  glance  of  gratitude.  "  Have  you 
had  any  such  terrible  adventure  before  ?" 

"  In  some  ways,  perhaps,  more  trying," 
said  Chisholm,  "  although  as  far  as  actual 
bodily  danger  is  concerned,  I  do  not  think 
that  any  one  could  ever  have  passed 
through  worse  than  those  of  the  fire  and 
the  threatening  shipwreck.  But  I  have 
felt  more  tried,  and  have  escaped  over  an 
even  worse  bar  than  that  of  the  Colum- 
bia," he  added,  with  emotion.  Mary's 
curiosity  was  again  aroused,  and  he  con- 
tinued. "  Yes,  there  are  trials  of  the 
mind  and  character,  which  age  men  more 
than  these  things — would  it  indeed,  in- 
terest you  to  know  more  of  me,  Miss 
Mary  ?  Sometimes  I  think  you  doubt 
me,  and  I  feel  that  I  should  like  to  speak 
to  you  as  a  friend,  and  know  that  you 
have  a  friendly  interest  in  me.  Is  it  so, 


106     .from  Shaoom  to  Sunlight. 

and  can  I  hope  for  some  such  senti- 
ment ? " 

Mary  knew  by  instinct,  what  might  be 
another  peril  to  her  self-possession  was 
close  at  hand  but  felt  too  unnerved  to 
encourage  at  that  moment  avowals  that 
she  desired  secretly  to  hear,  and  yet 
feared  because  she  was  aware  she  would 
be  helpless  if  he  demanded  a  surrender  of 
her  independence.  She  was  not  quite 
prepared  to  go  through  more  experiences 
of  an  agitating  nature  at  that  hour,  and 
so  she  postponed  the  matter,  by  asking 
what  could  be  more  dreadful  than  the 
storm  they  had  escaped,  and  saying  she 
only  knew  of  one  thing  that  might  be  so, 
and  that  was,  perhaps,  the  breaking  of 
some  affection — the  estrangement  of  some 
dear  friend  ? 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  to  her  surprise,  "  the 
linking  of  all  ties  that  bind  one  to  those 
we  love,  the  rejection  of  all  communion, 
the  bitterness  of  exile  from  that  we  have 


from.  0hab0t»  to  Sunlight.     107 

most  adored  and  reverenced,  the  find- 
ing that  false  we  have  believed  to  be 
true." 

"  Had  he  then  loved  some  woman,"  she 
asked  herself,  "and  been  rejected?  Did 
he  still,"  she  wondered,  "  cling  to  the 
memory  of  one  who  spurned  him  ?  What 
could  this  mean,  and  if  it  meant  what  the 
words  implied,  why  was  he  here,  giving 
perhaps  too  much  of  his  regard,  winning 
much,"  she  almost  whispered  to  herself, 
"of  her  affection?"  She  said  nothing,  un- 
less a  scarcely  audible  "  yes  "  indicated 
inquiry  and  regret. 

"  Yes,  I  have  suffered  more  than  ship- 
wreck in  life,"  he  went  on,  "and  the  sym- 
pathy of  a  friend  is  inexpressibly  precious 
to  me.  I  have  touched  on  a  bar  in  the 
great  river  of  life,  which  has  shut  me  out 
from  the  flow  of  the  mighty  river  of  hu- 
man kindness." 

"  Nay,"  thought  Mary,  "  what  an  atro- 
cious woman  it  must  have  been  to  have 


io8     from  Shabotn  to  Sunlight. 

given  him  so  much  pain !  I  should  like 
to  see  her  thrown  overboard." 

It  was  quite  certain  that  if  Miss  Mary 
had  been  an  autocrat,  such  as  Cleopatra 
may  be  supposed  to  have  been  when  she 
navigated  the  Nile  in  her  ancient  "  Dia 
Byah,"  any  lady  who  had  offended  Walter 
Chisholm  if  he  had  been  on  board,  would 
have  instantly  have  found  himself  explor- 
ing the  bottom  of  that  historic  river.. 
This  idea  made  her  look  rather  fierce 
and  intractable.  Her  admirer,  who  was 
himself  "  getting  into  deeper  water  "  every 
moment  in  speaking  to  her  of  his  woes, 
observed  the  expression,  and,  being  of  a 
very  sensitive  nature,  said : 

"  But  I  am  a  fool  to  trouble  you  with 
my  feelings,  for  what  right  have  I  to  in- 
trude my  insignificant  and  cheerless  talk 
upon  you  —  especially  now  when  you 
ought  to  be  having  the  conversation  of 
some  cheerful  and  amusing  companion 
after  the  fright  you  have  had  to-day  ?  " 


from  Shafcoto  to  Sunlight.     109 


"  No,  pray,  Mr.  Chisholm,  do  not  say 
so ;  but  I  do  not  see  in  what  I  can  help 
you  in  mending  what  the — person — who 
has  vexed  you  has  done.  Perhaps  you 
still  look  to  that — person — for  restitution 
of  something  that  has  been  taken  from 
you.  But  if  you  lost  your  heart,"  she 
said,  with  at  attempt  at  gayety,  "it  is 
always  a  difficult  matter,  as  I  am  told." 

"All  lights  out  please,  m'm,"  at  this 
junction  said  one  of  the  boat's  officials, 
as  a  hint  that  the  retirement  of  the  pas- 
sengers to  their  cabins  was  now  expected, 
and  further  explanations,  and  disclosures, 
confidences,  and  condolences  were  some- 
what abruptly  cut  short.  The  morrow 
was  to  witness  another  complication,  for 
at  a  place  where  they  left  the  steamer 
and  took  to  the  train  they  saw  on  the 
platform  a  gentleman  who  scrutinized 
Chisholm  with  much  attention,  and  was 
soon  occupied  in  earnest  conversation 
with  a  companion,  who  also  looked  in 


no     from  Sfyafccrn)  to  Stmlight. 

the  same  direction,  when  both,  with  a 
gesture  of  aversion,  entered  another  car. 
Chisholm  had  seen  these  two  men  also, 
and  turned  his  back  upon  them,  as  he 
helped  Miss  Mary  and  her  father  into 
the  other  car.  A  reference  to  his  ac- 
quaintances on  the  platform  soon  came 
from  Miss  Mary,  who  perceived  that  the 
gentlemen  she  had  observed  looking  at 
them  and  speaking  eagerly  were  known 
to  him. 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  are  known  to  me,  but  I 
do  not  think  they  will  care  to  speak  to 
me,"  he  answered,  somewhat  sadly. 

"  I  suppose  they  are  reporters  for  some 
of  the  newspapers,"  she  remarked,  a  lit- 
tle maliciously,  "  for  it  is  evident  that 
they  take  much  interest  in  your  move- 
ments." 

"Ah,"  he  said,  with  a  forced  smile, 
"perhaps  it  was  you,  Miss  Mary,  who 
engaged  their  attention  and  any  admira- 
tion their  looks  may  have  conveyed,  was, 


-•  from  Shadow  to  Snnlight.     m 

I  am  certain,  not  excited  by  my  appear- 
ance." 

It  was  evident  that  he  did  not  care  to 
pursue  this  subject,  and  no  further  allu- 
sion was  made  to  it.  But  their  journey 
was  to  carry  them  past  the  flourishing 
American  cities  now  rising  on  the  United 
States  coast,  and  they  took  ship  again  to 
cross  over  to  Vancouver's  Island,  where 
they  designed  to  pass  a  few  days  at  Vic- 
toria, there  to  rest  awhile  before  again 
undertaking  the  transcontinental  journey. 
It  was  while  crossing  over  the  straits, 
and  while  Wincott  was  admiring  the 
splendid  view  of  the  Olympian  Range 
that  walled  to  the  south  the  calm  waters, 
that  he  was  accosted  by  one  of  the  men 
who  had  watched  so  closely  himself  and 
Chisholm  as  they  took  the  cars  a  day  or 
two  before.  The  stranger  began  by  lift- 
ing his  hat  and  making  some  ordinary 
observations  about  the  scenery  and  the 
weather.  He  was  well  clad  in  a  dark 


n2      from  Shafcoto  to  Snnlight. 

suit  of  clothes,  with  a  hat  having  a  sug- 
gestion in  "  its  language  "  of  clericalism, 
an  idea  further  strengthened  by  the  cut 
of  his  collar,  which  also  "  spoke "  of  a 
subtle  eloquence  having  occasionally 
been  delivered  from  under  its  narrow  but 
immaculate  and  close-fitting  edge.  His 
address  was  good,  and  the  accents  decid- 
edly British.  Mr.  Wincott  was  naturally 
polite,  but,  unlike  some  Americans,  he 
had  almost  a  British  antipathy  to  being 
interrupted  in  his  thoughts  by  any  un- 
looked-for intrusion.  He  therefore  an- 
swered somewhat  briefly,  and  did  not 
offer  to  continue  the  conversation.  But 
the  darkly-clad  gentleman  soon  again,  in 
the  gentlest  of  voices,  expressed  the 
pleasure  it  gave  him  (for  he  was,  he  said, 
an  Englishman)  to  find  that  an  eminent 
citizen  of  the  Eastern  States  intended  to 
visit  an  English  colony  such  as  Vancou- 
ver, and  said  that  he  had  been  there 
long  enough  to  know  the  value  of  inter- 


.from  Shadow  to  Smnlight.     113 

national  good  understanding,  a  result 
that  could  best  be  arrived  at  by  mutual 
knowledge,  and  how  could  such  knowl- 
edge be  better  obtained  than  by  the  per- 
sonal visits  of  influential  men  on  both 
sides ! 

Mr.  Wincott  did  not  care  for  this 
style  of  flattery,  and  merely  bowed.  His 
coldness  was  remarked  by  his  agreeable 
besieger,  and  the  attack  was  changed, 
and  the  tone  altered  to  one  calculated  to 
awake  a  more  responsive  spirit. 

"  I  hope  I  may  be  permitted  to  present 
to  your  daughter  a  brief  account  of  the 
history  of  this  part  of  the  world.  I  have 
seen  how  she  admires  the  country,  and 
its  natural  history  has  only  been  touched 
by  poor  Lord's  pen,  while  there  is  much 
that  would  interest  her  in  its  early  dis- 
covery from  the  time  of  the  Dutch  Van- 
couver to  the  days  commemorated  by 
Washington  Irving  in  '  Astoria.'  " 

"  I   thank   you,   sir,"   replied   Wincott. 
8 


ii4     -from  Shabow  to  Snnlight. 

"  I  presume  I  have  the  pleasure  of  ad- 
dressing a  resident  of  the  West  Coast." 

"  No,  I  have  but  lately  come  here,  but, 
as  I  have  had  a  good  training,  that  makes 
me  a  good  hand  at  learning  languages. 
I  have  been  much  among  the  Indians, 
and  have  taken  a  deep  interest  in  them, 
and  my  work  has  laid  chiefly  among  them 
and  the  Chinese.  I  should  like  to  be  of 
service  to  you,  and  perhaps  you  will  not 
take  it  amiss  if  I  ask  one  question  of 
you,  for  you  have  among  your  party  one 
I  know  well.  May  I  inquire  if  my  old 
acquaintance  Chisholm  has  been  long 
with  you." 

"  No,  sir;  but,  if  you  know  him,  how  is 
it  that  you  do  not  put  the  question  to 
him,  instead  of  to  me  ? " 

"  It  is  because  I  have  a  special  reason 
for  the  inquiry,  and  if  he  is  not  a  friend 
of  yours,  and  you  have  but  known  him 
recently,  I  can  do  so." 

"  Sir,  he  is,  I  believe,  a  countryman  of 


from  BhaootD  to  Btmlight.     115 

your  own,  but  I  have  not  been  so  curious 
about  him  as  you  appear  to  be,  and  I 
have  not  questioned  him." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  as  well  that  you  did 
not,"  was  the  reply,  "for  I  fear  you 
would  not  get  the  truth  from  him." 

Wincott  looked  at  his  questioner  in 
great  surprise. 

"Sir,  I  do  not  think  we  need  discuss 
such  matters." 

"  It  is  because  I  wished  to  give  you  a 
solemn  warning  against  him  that  I  have 
ventured  to  say  so  much,"  replied  the 
man,  with  imperturbable  suavity,  as 
though  he  was  saying  the  pleasantest 
thing  in  the  world.  "  I  have  known 
Walter  Chisholm,  for  such  is  his  name, 
for  some  years,  and  believe  me  that  he 
is  here  for  no  good.  He  has  betrayed 
those  who  trusted  him  in  Europe,  and  he 
will  betray  again  any  man  or  woman  who 
confides  in  him." 

"  Sir,  you  have  said  enough,"  was  Win- 


n6      from  Shafccrto  to  Sunlight. 

cott's  answer,  and  he  bowed  to  the  com- 
municative gentleman  a  low  bow,  that 
clearly  indicated  an  end  to  the  conversa- 
tion. 

Such  confidences,  however,  do  not  leave 
an  agreeable  impression  behind  them,  and 
Wincott  found  himself  eying  with  in- 
creased attention,  and  with  an  easiness 
he  could  not  control,  the  good  under- 
standing that  had  evidently  sprung  up 
between  Mary  and  Walter.  He  went  so 
far  as  to  take  occasion  to  say  a  word  to 
his  daughter,  in  the  nature  of  a  reminder 
that  people  were  not  always  to  be  at 
once  implicitly  to  be  trusted,  however 
great  an  obligation  might  be  owing  to 
them,  and  urged  that  a  long  acquaintance 
should  always  precede  the  forming  of  any 
irretrievable  decisions.  Mary  listened  pa- 
tiently, but  only  said  when  he  concluded : 

"  Papa,  is  it  not  true  that  these  men 
who  came  on  board  with  us  have  been 
speaking  to  you  of  Mr.  Chisholm  ?" 


from  0l)ab0tD  \o  Sunlight.     117 

Wincott  had  eluded  giving  any  positive 
reply,  which,  of  course,  made  Mary  cer- 
tain that  the  fact  was  as  she  and  Chis- 
holm  had  surmised. 

"But  why,  then,  does  he  not,"  she 
thought,  as  she  meditated  on  this,  "why 
does  not  Mr.  Chisholm  challenge  these 
eavesdroppers  and  slanderers  ? " 

Before  long  they  arrived  at  Victoria, 
and  pushed  their  way  along  the  quay, 
which  was  crowded  with  people  who  had 
come  down  to  meet  the  boat.  There 
were  many  Chinese — indeed,  most  of  the 
men  there  wore  the  pig-tail  and  blue 
loose  tunic  of  that  nationality.  But 
there  were  many  whites,  who  directed 
the  operations  of  the  yellow  men  in  clear- 
ing the  boat.  There  were  a  few  Tartar- 
faced  Indians — "  ugly  creatures,"  as  Mary 
thought — with  big  cheek  bones,  and  eyes 
set  at  an  angle  only  a  little  less  than 
the  Chinese.  There  were  also  ruddy  Eng- 
lishmen, who  heartily  greeted  the  pas- 


n8     .from  Sljoooto  to  Stmlight. 

sengers  they  expected  to  meet.  Among 
these  was  a  man  of  good  countenance, 
who,  as  soon  as  he  saw  Chisholm,  shouted 
out: 

"  Hullo,  Walter,  old  fellow,  what  on 
earth  brings  you  here  ?  By  Jove,  I  am 
glad  to  see  you !  Come  to  turn  over  a 
new  leaf  altogether  in  the  new  world, 
eh  ?  Are  you  alone  ?  Come  to  my  house. 
Goodness  gracious,  what  a  surprise  to 
see  you,  old  man,  and  what  a  pleasure  !  " 
and  then  ran  on  in  the  same  strain,  ask- 
ing so  many  questions  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  answer  them.  Chisholm's  face 
glowed  with  delight  at  the  meeting  with 
his  friend,  and  Mary  shared  in  his  joy, 
on  seeing  him  so  warmly  welcomed. 

"  No,  I  am  not  alone,  in  one  sense,  for 
I  have  been  in  the  company  of  these 
friends,"  said  Chisholm.  "  Let  me  intro- 
duce you  to  them,"  and  then  he  made 
known  his  name  as  the  Honorable  Charles 
Churston,  an  old  English  public  school- 


,fr0m  Shaboto  to  Stmlight.     119 

mate  of  his  own.  Nothing  would  satisfy 
Churston  until  Chisholm  had  promised  to 
go  to  his  house  instead  of  going  to  the 
Russell  House  Hotel,  where  they  had  all 
ordered  rooms. 

"  Will  you  follow  on  after  you  have  got 
the  luggage,"  said  Churston,  "  and,  in  the 
mean  time,  if  Mr.  Wincott  allows  me,  I 
will  show  himself  and  Miss  Wincott  the 
way  to  the  hotel,  and  see  they  get  all 
they  need."  He  made  them  mount  a 
nicely  appointed  buggy,  and,  as  he  drove 
them  away,  said  to  Mr.  Wincott : 

"  Well,  I  consider  myself  to  be  in  great 
luck  to  have  met  you,  especially  with 
such  a  dear  old  friend  as  Chisholm — the 
best  fellow  I  know." 

Wincott  told  him  that  he  esteemed  Mr. 
Chisholm,  and  that  he  had  saved  them 
from  a  great  danger  at  San  Francisco. 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  hear  he  has  fallen 
in  with  you,  for  I  am  sure  he  could  not 
be  in  better  hands.  I  have  good  reason 


izo     from  Shaboro  to  Sunlight. 

to  respect  and  love  him,  and  no  man  in 
my  estimation  has  shown  a  finer  charac- 
ter than  his — and  well  tried  it  has  been, 
too,"  he  added  in  a  lower  tone. 

They  drove  on  through  the  clean  and 
bright  streets  of  the  delightful  capital  of 
the  great  Province  of  British  Columbia. 
There  was  plenty  of  life  in  the  highways 
and  by-ways.  Cheerful  buildings  of  red 
brick  bespoke  a  comfort  unalloyed  by 
extravagant  attempts  at  display,  good 
shops  with  ample  fronts  of  glass  were 
sheltered  from  the  sun  by  the  verandaed 
sidewalks,  which  the  travelers  had  no- 
ticed in  use  in  the  big  city  that  they  had 
left  a  few  days  before.  From  many 
points  the  joyous  waters  of  the  bay  and 
of  the  calm  straits  could  be  seen,  the 
shadowy  mountains  on  the  farther  Ameri- 
can continent  shining  with  the  dim  snows 
upon  their  summits.  Hills  on  the  island 
around  them  rose  green  with  the  forests 
of  the  handsome  Douglas  fir.  Over  all 


from  Sljab0tD  to  Smtligfjt.     121 

breathed  an  air  of  peaceful  prosperity, 
not  achieved  without  effort,  but  main- 
tained without  the  fever  manifest  in  more 
ambitious  places.  A  perfect  climate,  a 
contented  people,  a  free  and  happy  life, 
occupied  but  not  distracted  by  its  daily 
business,  these  seemed  the  characteristics 
of  a  country  whose  motto  might  be  given 
in  the  words  "  Loyal  and  Laborious." 
By  loyalty  and  labor  they  had  won  a  po- 
sition to  be  envied.  They  had  enough  for 
their  wants ;  there  were  none  very  rich  to 
make  them  envious.  There  were  only 
enough  poor  to  remind  them  of  the  vir- 
tue of  charity.  Their  land  was  beautiful 
and  their  lives  were  happy. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IT  may  readily  be  imagined  that  Mary 
Wincott  had  by  this  time  made  a  confi- 
dante of  the  only  other  lady  of  her  party, 
and  this  lady  took  a  most  lively  interest  in 
all  she  heard,  fully  sympathized  with  Mary 
in  her  admiration  for  Chisholm,  and  was 
ready,  as  most  good  women  are,  to  clear 
up  any  misunderstandings  and  difficulties 
which  might  have  prevented  a  marriage. 

"  You  may  think  how  badly  I  felt,"  said 
Mary,  "  when  my  father  spoke  to  me  on 
the  subject  of  Mr.  Chisholm's  attentions. 
He  seemed  to  think  that  those  bilious- 
looking  men  on  the  steamer,  had  truth  on 
their  side  when  they  spoke  against  my 
friend.  I  consider  them  both  as  frauds, 
and  although  they  should  be  intelligent, 


from  Shaootu  10  Stmlight.     123 

judging  from  the  number  of  bumps  and 
lumps  on  their  heads,  I  think  Mr.  Chis- 
holm's  calm  fair  brow  is  decidedly  worth 
a  thousand  such  mean  intellects." 

This  was  pretty  strongly  expressed,  but 
Miss  Wincott's  mind  had  been  much  exer- 
cised on  the  subject;  and  where  the  heart 
feels  the  mouth  speaks.  Her  anxiety  was 
heightened  next  morning  when  her  friend 
did  not  appear,  and  when  a  letter  was 
handed  to  her  father,  which  she  could  see 
bore  Mr.  Chisholm's  handwriting  on  the 
cover.  We  may  as  well  give  the  contents 
of  this  letter.  What  it  conveyed  could 
hardly  influence  the  young  lady's  mind 
for  or  against  the  writer,  because  her 
opinions  were  already  so  firmly  estab- 
lished that  it  is  safe  to  say  that  nothing 
short  of  a  miracle  would  have  changed 
them.  Her  father  had  been  most  favora- 
bly impressed  by  all  he  had  heard  from 
Mr.  Churston,  but  he  had  not  cleared  up 
any  doubts  that  might  arise  in  conse- 


124     from  Shafccm)  ta  Snnlight. 

quence  of  the  peculiarities  he  had  noticed 
in  Chisholm — the  dislike  of  meeting  those 
he  might  have  been  supposed  to  be  likely 
to  be  willing  to  meet,  and  the  somewhat 
mysterious  references  he  had  to  let  fall  as 
to  the  vexations  of  his  past  life.  Mr. 
Wincott  said  nothing  when  he  received 
the  letter,  but  retired  to  his  room.  Thith- 
er we  may  follow  him,  and  read  the  letter 
over  his  shoulder. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
Letter  from  Mr.  Chisholm  to  Mr.  Wincott. 

"  DEAR  SIR  :  I  hope  you  will  not  be 
angry  with  me  if  I  ask  your  kind  atten- 
tion to  a  very  long  letter.  I  might,  per- 
haps, not  have  addressed  it  to  you,  had  I 
not  heard  before  we  left  San  Francisco, 
that  family  circumstances,  which  would 
have  deterred  me  from  writing  it,  had 
been  changed  by  a  judicial  decision  given 
on  a  pending  suit  in  the  Scottish  Courts. 
This  decision  leaves  me  the  master  of  a 
fortune  that  renders  me  quite  independ- 
ent. Owing  to  events  which  I  shall  take 
the  liberty  of  explaining  to  you,  this  mat- 
ter rested  in  doubt  for  some  time. 

"  I  have  been  assured  by  your  consid- 
erate conduct  toward  me,  that  events 


126      from  Shaboto  la  Sunlight. 

which  concern  me  may  not  be  wholly  in- 
different to  you.  If  they  be  of  no  inter- 
est to  you,  I  do  not  request  you  to  pro- 
ceed in  the  perusal  of  this  communication. 
I  feel,  however,  that  unless  I  make  you 
the  offer  of  an  explanation,  I  may  remain 
in  a  false  position,  and  I  have  had  too 
evil  an  experience  of  a  false  position  to 
allow  me  not  to  make  the  attempt,  at  all 
events,  to  save  myself  from  again  becom- 
ing the  victim  of  another  such  misfortune. 
The  death  of  my  father  occurred  a  few 
months  ago,  and  it  has  added  to  the  dis- 
tress I  have  felt  on  other  accounts  that  I 
was  not  able  to  receive  his  blessing  on  his 
deathbed,  nor  to  remove  from  his  mind 
prejudices  which  he  had  conceived  against 
me.  These  prejudices  were  founded  on 
conduct  on  my  part  of  which  you  your- 
self shall  be  the  judge,  if  you  read  this 
letter  to  the  end.  Suffice  it  to  say  now, 
that  they  were  sufficiently  strong  to  pre- 
vent his  contributing  in  any  form  to  my 


.from  Shaooto  to  Stmiight.     127 

support  when  I  had  occasion  to  apply  to 
him. 

"  He  told  me  when  I  was  still  quite 
young,  and  had  taken  the  first  step  that 
led  to  his  displeasure,  that  if  I  persisted 
in  the  course  I  had  felt  it  my  duty  to  take, 
he  could  not  give  me  the  aid  he  had  given 
to  others  of  his  family.  As  I  was  the 
eldest,  and  had  a  natural  right  to  expect 
favor  at  his  hands,  this  announcement 
did  not  tend  to  soften  my  feelings,  but 
rather  hardened  me  to  shape  an  independ- 
ent course,  believing  that  injustice  had 
followed  misrepresentation.  That  my 
path  was  not  his,  that  my  opinion  led  me 
on  a  different  way,  was,  I  knew,  a  grief 
to  him,  but  I  did  not  expect  that  he  would 
have  taken  the  side  of  my  enemies. 

"  My  persistence  soon  led  to  his  sending 
to  me  an  intimation  that  he  had  disinher- 
ited me.  But  this  also  had  no  effect  on 
me.  Indeed,  from  the  manner  of  life  I 
had  chosen  to  lead  when  this  new  meas- 


128      from  Shaboto  to  Sunlight. 

ure  of  his  displeasure  fell  upon  me,  I  had 
expected  little  else.  I  was  not*  surprised, 
although  I  was  pained  by  the  manner  in 
which  the  decision  was  conveyed  to  me, 
and  by  the  additional  words  of  reproof 
with  which  it  was  accompanied.  I  could, 
however,  not  have  used  the  property,  as  I 
then  conceived,  for  my  own  good,  and  re- 
gretted its  loss  only  because  I  fancied  that 
therewith  I  might  have  done  good  to 
others.  Now  since  his  death  all  is  changed. 
It  was  found  by  my  legal  representatives 
that  the  old  Scots  entail  through  which  in 
his  phrase  he  could  '  drive  a  coach  and 
six,'  still  held  good.  The  wish  of  my 
parent  to  devise  the  land  otherwise  than 
it  has  been  devised  from  father  to  son 
through  a  very  long  array  of  ancestors  is 
therefore  rendered  a  nugatory  and  I  am 
in  possession  of  that  he  owned.  Although 
by  no  means  a  rich  heritage,  it  is  far  more 
than  sufficient.  I  have  been  accustomed 
to  live  as  though  I  should  literally  have 


.from  Shaboro  to  Sunlight.     129 

to  take  no  care  for  the  morrow  as  to  what 
I  should  eat  or  what  I  should  drink.  I 
find  myself  still  wondering  whether  it  is 
right  to  spend  what  is  mine,  still  waking 
with  surprise  to  find  that  I  am  to  wear 
good  clothes,  still  inclined  to  grudge  my- 
self that  which  all  those  of  my  station  in 
life  enjoy  without  thought,  and  use  with- 
out examination  or  gratitude.  The  old 
poverty  and  faith  that  made  me  not  care 
for  the  morrow,  is  replaced  by  a  conscious- 
ness that  what  has  become  mine  without 
labor  should  be  shared  by  those  who  can 
hardly  attain  by  any  effort  the  comfort  I 
have.  The  vow  of  charity  I  hold  to  be 
a  holier  vow  than  that  of  poverty.  The 
acceptance  of  the  will  of  Providence  in 
bestowing  that  which  is  good  is  best 
shown  by  the  filling  of  the  burden  of  the 
responsibility  of  its  distribution.  We 
should  not,  I  believe,  fly  from  this  pen- 
ance of  life,  and  leave  to  others  that  which 
we  should  do  ourselves.  To  hide  our  in- 
9 


130      <from  Styabotn  la  Stmlight. 

dividuality  for  an  association  of  mortals 
like  ourselves,  and  to  vow  obedience  to 
one  of  these  in  matters  in  which  the  giv- 
ing of  that  which  is  ours,  not  as  seems 
best  to  the  intellect  planted  in  ourselves, 
but  as  seems  best  only  to  a  fellow-man 
chosen  as  our  superior,  seems  to  me  a 
sacrifice  to  man  rather  than  to  God.  I 
have  interpreted  the  phrase  used  by  my 
former  friends  of  the  abdication  of  the 
empire  over  self-will,  and  have  found  it  to 
mean  the  enthronement  of  a  will  more  to 
be  distrusted  than  our  own. 

"  Let  each  man  use  the  intellect  given 
to  him ;  let  no  man  surrender  it  to  others 
in  the  lesson  I  have  learned.  I  have  not 
found  peace  in  the  suppression  of  my  own 
thoughts,  nor  have  I  found  rest  in  forsak- 
ing the  place  appointed  me  by  Providence 
in  the  line  of  life's  battle.  You  will  won- 
der at  this  apparently  irrelevant  rhap- 
sody, but  the  explanation  is  briefly  this — 
my  father  disapproved  of  my  becoming  a 


,£rom  Shaboio  to  Sunlight.      I31 

Roman  Catholic,  and  of  the  further  steps 
taken  by  me  in  that  most  holy  faith.  It 
was  the  after  consequences  of  my  action 
that  he  detested,  with  the  unreasoning 
dislike  of  a  man  who  has  never  had  the 
patience  to  look  into  questions,  even 
though  he  had  heard  them  superficially 
criticised.  It  was  not  so  much  my  recep- 
tion into  that  Church  that  he  dreaded, 
but  the  acceptance  by  me  of  priests' 
orders,  which  I  was  privileged  to  bear 
some  time  afterward.  He  declared  that 
a  priest  must  give  all  he  had  to  the 
church,  and  that  as  I  could  have  no  family 
or  affection  outside  of  its  pale,  he  must 
pass  me  over,  and  give  my  inheritance  to 
another.  I  am  no  priest  now ;  I  have 
left  the  communion  I  embraced.  I  am  a 
double-dyed  traitor  in  the  eyes  both  of 
my  family  and  my  old  brethren  of  the 
priesthood.  Can  you  wonder  that  I  feel 
a  terror  of  meeting  those  who  believe  me 
forsworn  ?  Can  you  not  at  this  same  time 


i32      from  Bhaboto  10  Stmlight. 

understand  how  it  is  that  I  entered  that 
church  in  my  youth  for  conscience'  sake, 
embraced  the  religion  by  which  I  was 
attracted,  and  have  also  done  right  in  re- 
turning to  that  in  which  I  was  christened, 
when  the  priestly  vocation  did  not  satisfy 
me  and  when  my  conscience  no  longer 
allowed  me  to  wear  the  uniform  denoting 
obedience  to  its  officers,  and  belief  in  its 
trusts  ?  Thus  much  I  say  at  the  outset, 
that  you  may  not  misunderstand  me,  for  I 
can  not  bear  that  I  should  long  delay  in 
placing  before  you  my  reason  for  the 
doubt  you  must  have  seen  in  my  bearing, 
and  that  I  should  not  at  once  declare 
that  I  am  not  ashamed  of  what  I  have 
done,  however  much  I  may  shrink  from 
the  constant  assertion  of  my  integrity  be- 
fore those  who  would  dispute  it. 

"  But  I  have  not  told  you  all.  More 
must  yet  be  said.  Let  me  ask  your  pa- 
tience. 

"  I  was  an  impressionable  youth,  and 


.from  Shafcoto  la  Stmlight.     133 

had  from  a' very  early  age  liked  to  pore 
over  books,  containing  what  I  may  call 
the  heraldry  of  religion,  for  the  forms  of 
the  churches  are  but  the  blazon  of  belief. 
The  pageantry  that  is  always  attractive 
to  the  wondering  child-nature  within  us,  a 
nature  that  is  impressed  by  ceremonies 
and  costumes,  and  scenic  effect,  especially 
if  they  be  made  to  have  mysterious  mean- 
ings ;  the  love  of  beauty  in  music,  in 
lights,  in  colors,  which  the  boy  or  girl 
shares  in  common  with  the  elder  child, 
the  savage,  or  the  uneducated — all  this 
had  a  double  fascination  for  me.  But  as 
a  youth  I  was  by  no  means  untouched  by 
the  simple  forms  of  worship.  I  used  to 
attend  the  services  of  the  Orthodox  or 
Greek  Church,  and  loved  to  listen  to  the 
deep-toned  chanting  of  their  priests,  and 
delighted  in  the  mysterious  secrecy  of  the 
painted  screen,  rich  with  the  hues  of  all 
metals  and  jewelry  surrounding  the  fig- 
ures of  the  saints.  My  curiosity  in  eccle- 


134     from  Shobauj  to 


siastical  matters  went  so  far  that  I  sat 
observing  with  the  greatest  attention  not 
only  the  services  but  even  the  debates  in 
the  assemblies  of  Protestant  churches. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  constant  strain  on  the 
mind,  caused  by  watching  how  much  all 
these  doctors  differed  in  the  prescriptions 
they  offered  for  its  weal,  that  aggravated 
a  temperament  which  in  youth  was  too 
sensitive,  as  is  the  case  with  many  boys. 
The  delicacy  of  constitution  which  marked 
my  early  years  gave  way  with  manhood, 
but  the  doubts  and  questionings  of  heart 
and  soul  that  a  more  healthy  tone  would 
have  preserved  me  from,  left  its  impress 
upon  me.  I  became,  when  still  a  child, 
what  the  French  call  a  dfvot.  I  believed 
that  I  could  assist  in  the  regeneration  of 
mankind.  Among  my  studies  had,  of 
course,  been  the  writings  of  the  Fathers 
of  the  Catholic  Church,  and  I  had  taken 
opportunities  of  conversing  upon  these 
with  members  of  that  church.  An  excel- 


irom  Sho&oro  to  Sunlight.     135 

lent  man,  who  belonged  to  that  faith, 
soon  saw  the  aptitude  I  possessed  for  in- 
struction and  took  me  in  hand  with  a  zeal 
worthy  of  a  better  cause.  He  was  de- 
sirous not  only  to  secure  me,  but  the 
property  that  he  believed  would  be  mine, 
and,  without  telling  any  of  my  family,  I 
was  admitted  by  him  to  the  church.  I  do 
not  blame  him,  for  I  know  that  he  acted 
as  he  thought  for  my  good.  It  was  some 
time  before  the  truth  of  my  conversion 
was  known  to  my  father,  and  his  anger 
made  me,  as  I  say,  a  yet  firmer  adherent 
of  the  doctrines  I  had  embraced.  I  con- 
ceived myself  to  be  already  in  some  meas- 
ure a  martyr,  and  that  the  punishment  I 
suffered  in  this  world  would  be  more  than 
rewarded  in  the  next.  But  my  health  was 
none  the  better  for  the  anxiety  I  endured, 
and  the  weaker  I  became  in  body  the 
more  was  I  shut  out  by  my  new  pastors 
from  any  influences  but  their  own.  Soon 
my  highest  ambition  was  the  priesthood. 


136      from  0hab0to  to  Sunlight. 

"  I  begged  to  be  allowed  to  study  at 
Rome.  Then  from  exposure  to  the  sun, 
and  the  consequence  of  a  cold  caught 
when  sleeping  in  a  little  room  hidden 
away  from  the  light,  and  therefore  damp 
and  chilly,  I  fell  very  ill.  Again,  in  spite 
of  all  the  kindness  of  those  who  minis- 
tered to  me,  a  renewed  state  of  uncer- 
tainty as  to  my  future,  a  dependent  frame 
of  mind  took  possession  of  me  and  tor- 
tured me  with  misgivings,  and  doubts,  so 
that  I  often  even  longed  for  death.  The 
reminiscences  of  childhood,  the  desire 
again  to  experience  the  love  of  my  kin- 
dred, were  mingled  with  intensely  vivid 
pictures  of  the  place  I  loved  in  my 
youth ;  the  woods,  and  hills,  and  glens, 
and  streams,  along  which  my  way  used 
to  take  me. 

"  In  my  ravings  I  panted  for  the  cool 
rush  of  the  Highland  burns,  the  soothing 
babble  of  the  quieter  reaches  in  the 
meadows  so  full  of  primroses  in  the 


from  Shabouj  to  Stmlight.     137 

spring,  and  starred  even  in  the  autumn 
with  the  ox-eye  daisies.  I  raved  against 
all  that  had  induced  me  to  leave  such 
happiness,  the  joys  shared  with  parents 
and  brothers  and  sisters  at  home.  It  was 
raving,  I  suppose,  for  I  had  been  told 
that  I  had  been  delirious,  and  surely  such 
weaknesses  were  wholly  unworthy  of  one 
who  had  put  his  hand  to  the  plow  and 
durst  not  turn  back.  * 

"  Certainly  as  I  grew  stronger  the  fear- 
ful homesickness  and  yearning  for  the 
old  days  and  the  old  ways,  left  me  to  a 
great  extent,  and  I  looked  forward  again 
to  fulfilling  my  vows  as  a  soldier  of 
Christ.  It  was  when  I  was  recovering 
that  I  read  the  lives  of  the  saints,  and  the 
fortune  and  career  of  the  founder  of  the 
Jesuit  fraternity,  deeply  interested  me. 
I  could  not  help  in  some  measure  com- 
paring his  fate  with  my  own,  for  he  also 
had  been  born  to  competence,  and  a 
position  honorable  in  his  own  country. 


138     from  0l)aaoio  to  Sunlight. 

He  had  had  greater  fortune  than  I,  for 
he  had  distinguished  himself  in  battle, 
and  when  wounded  had  first  turned  his 
thoughts  to  piety  and  God.  It  was  a 
fanciful  and  conceited  thought  on  my 
part,  to  think  of  my  own  case  in  connec- 
tion with  his  glorious  success  and  marvel- 
ous self-confidence.  But  I  was  still  weak, 
and  conceit  is  one  of  the  courtiers  of  a 
feeble  brain.  An  ambition  was  at  all 
events  aroused  to  do  what  he  had  done, 
to  make  his  knightly  breeding  and  bear- 
ing the  stepping-stone  to  a  place  wherein 
to  wield  authority  greater  than  that  even 
of  the  most  successful  warrior.  My 
studies  were  renewed,  and  in  the  intervals 
of  my  work  I  wandered  to  some  massive 
ruin  of  Pagan  times,  in  Rome,  and  felt 
how  great  the  creed  must  be  that  van- 
quished the  building  of  these  leviathan 
baths,  and  theatres,  and  temples,  and 
palaces,  and  felt  how  the  spirit  of  Peter 
and  of  Paul  had  lived  again  in  such  men 


,from  Bhaboto  ta  0mtligl)t.      139 

as  Loyola,  although  in  different  guise, 
and  perhaps  sullied  with  more  natural 
aspiration.  The  soldier  and  cavalier  had 
not  the  advantage  which  the  fishermen 
possessed,  of  following  so  close  upon  the 
Master.  He  had  not  been  able  to  see 
Him,  and  hear  from  His  lips  the  words 
that  made  death  seem  as  nothing,  and 
even  pain  if  it  'must  come,  welcome  as  a 
seal  of  their  covenant  with  Him,  and  an 
ensign  for  the  guidance  of  all  men  in  the 
ways  they  had  walked  with  Him.  But 
although  the  type  of  the  conquering 
spirit  was  wholly  different,  yet  the  Span- 
iard and  the  Galileans  had  both  fought 
the  good  fight,  and  if  mistakes  had  been 
committed  by  the  successors  of  Loyola, 
had  not  equally  grievous  mistakes  been 
committed  by  the  successors  of  St.  Peter? 
"  I  used  to  go  to  the  churches  when 
worn  out  with  pacing  the  streets  and 
country,  and  would  sit  down  or  kneel 
before  some  altar,  heart  and  limb  wearied, 


i4°     .from  Shabota  to  Sunlight. 

and  feeling  the  coolness  and  the  darkness 
of  the  place  more  soothing  than  I  can 
express.  On  one  of  these  days  I  had 
felt  disturbed  by  some  chanting  which 
had  broken  forth  in  the  chancel,  and  had 
wandered  forth  again,  only  to  enter  be- 
neath another  great  front,  whose  doors 
were  receiving  many  persons.  It  was 
near  evening.  The  church  was  great  and 
solemn  in  the  gloom,  but  there  was  noth- 
ing visible  in  it  which  especially  distin- 
guished it  from  many  another  beautiful 
edifice.  The  lofty  roof,  the  round  arches 
which  divided  the  chapels  in  the  aisles 
from  the  nave,  the  semicircular  vault 
above  the  high  altar,  were  like  those  of 
other  places  of  Roman  worship.  They, 
too,  were  built  as  were  the  old  temples 
with  that  perfect  curve  of  round  vaulting 
which  was  bequeathed  to  their  descend- 
ants by  the  masters  of  the  ancient  world. 
But  it  was  too  dark  to  criticise  the  archi- 
tecture or  to  be  conscious  of  more  than 


from  Shaftou)  to  Stmlight.     141 

the  vastness  or  solemnity  of  this  Chris- 
tian temple.  Wandering  on  into  the 
church,  with  a  vague  desire  to  kneel 
nearer  to  the  great  altar,  upon  which 
were  numerous  lights  burning  like  the 
shore  of  a  harbor  of  refuge  seen  across 
a  waste  of  black  waters,  I  found  several 
worshipers  there  before  me,  and  turned 
into  the  transept  and  kneeled  before  a 
marble  balustrade  which  guarded  a  shrine 
on  which  were  set  no  candles.  I  com- 
pleted my  prayer  and  rose,  and  then  saw 
that  apparently  coming  from  the  steps 
before  me  shone  a  glow  of  light,  which 
made  the  inner  part  of  the  shrine  bright 
with  the  sheen  of  gold.  This  upward 
gleaming  of  light  from  the  steps  before 
me  led  me  to  gaze  more  nearly  at  it,  and 
I  saw  on  the  worked  metal  the  figure  of 
a  man  who  was  giving  an  open  volume 
to  others  who  pressed  around  him  to  re- 
ceive it.  The  dress  of  this  figure  was 
unmistakable.  It  was  the  Jesuit  dress, 


142      from  Shafcoto  to  Sunlight. 

and  this  was  the  figure  of  Loyola,  and  I 
was  standing  at  his  tomb.  I  was  pro- 
foundly impressed  with  the  circumstance 
that  had  led  me  to  this  sepulchre,  for  I 
knew  not,  so  short  had  been  my  sojourn 
in  Rome  while  in  health,  where  the 
Church  of  the  Jesu  stood.  I  had  entered 
it  unwittingly,  I  had  been  conducted,  as 
I  thought,  by  an  unseen  but  directly 
guiding  power  to  this  holy  place,  the 
grave  of  one  of  whom  I  had  lately  read 
so  much,  and  with  whose  spirit  I  had 
felt  a  sympathy  that  had  drawn  mine  to 
his.  And  now,  on  a  platform  near  the 
pulpit,  I  saw  a  Jesuit  priest  ascend  in 
order  to  address  the  crowd  who  were 
filling  the  center  part  of  the  building. 
He  waited  until  most  of  them  had  seated 
themselves,  and  I  saw  his  dark  robes 
and  -dark  square  cap  becoming  gradually 
less  and  less  distinct  in  the  dusk.  There 
was  a  little  lamp  hanging  from  the  cen- 
ter of  the  arch  which  vaulted  each  aisle 


.from  6l)aZ>0tt)  to  Sunlight.     143 

chapel,  and  near  one  of  these  he  stood, 
and  then  began  to  preach  in  a  voice  so 
full  of  earnestness,  so  silently,  with  an 
intense  consciousness  of  the  transcend- 
ent importance  and  the  truth  of  the  mes- 
sage .he  was  commissioned  to  give,  that 
I  listened  spell-bound.  His  white  face 
could  be  seen  moving  a  little  from  side 
to  side,  his  arms  as  they  were  raised 
lifted  the  long  sleeves  that  rose  and  fell 
at  his  sides  like  black  wings.  The  peo- 
ple were  very  silent,  and  bent  forward 
to  hear,  as  his  full  voice  boldly  explained 
his  dogma,  and  then  pleads  with  them 
most  touchingly  to  hear  and  to  follow 
where  the  saintly  founder  of  their  so- 
ciety, the  servant  of  God,  had  led.  He 
did  not  plead  in  vain  with  me.  I  became 
not  only  a  priest,  but  also  a  Jesuit. 

"  The  severe  discipline  to  which  all 
those  who  desire  to  enlist  in  the  Com- 
pany of  Jesus  are  subjected  fell  heavily 
upon  me,  and  when  at  last  I  was  admitted 


144     from  Seaborn  to  Sunlight. 

to  exercise  my  new  functions  I  was  an 
austere  ascetic.  Some  disappointment 
and  chagrin  was,  I  am  ashamed  to  say, 
allowed  to  rankle  in  my  breast,  for  an 
eager  novice  naturally  expects  to  be  re- 
ceived with  open  arms,  when  once  he  has 
given  up  his  whole  life,  and  desires  to 
embrace  the  new  duty.  He  is  apt  to  be- 
lieve that  the  severity  of  the  wrench  his 
own  feelings  have  undergone,  should  be 
the  measure  of  the  warmth  of  the  greet- 
ing accorded  to  him  when  he  enters  the 
new  fold.  When  on  the  contrary,  except 
for  the  congratulations  of  his  own  inti- 
mates, he  finds  the  order  he  joins  is,  at 
all  events  as  far  as  regards  its  official  or 
public  conduct  toward  him,  apparently 
suspicious  and  distrustful,  he  resents  the 
coldness  of  his  reception.  He  thinks  he 
has  already  in  all  he  has  suffered  proved 
his  sincerity,  and  that  further  tests  are 
unnecessary — a  worry — nay,  almost  an 
insult.  The  meekness  and  obedience  he 


from  Shaboro  ta  Sunlight.     145 

should  feel  have  not  yet  fully  entered 
into  the  fiber  of  his  thought,  and  he  is 
inclined  to  think  that  his  sacrifice  has 
not  been  accepted,  and  that  he  is  worthy 
of  greater  trust.  He  knows  that  it  is 

useless   to   ask   for   responsibility  where 

• 
the  authority  to  which   he   has  yielded, 

has  not  yet  decreed  that  such  shall  be 
given  to  him.  He  undergoes  his  disci- 
pline, but  he  often  repines.  It  was  so 
with  me,  and  my  tendencies  were  not  un- 
discovered, nor  was  it  thought  good  that 
I  should  be  tried  beyond  what  I  could 
bear.  It  is  not  the  policy  of  the  society 
to  do  anything  to  a  man  which  might 
lose  him  to  its  cause,  or  even  render  his 
enthusiasm  less  fervent.  It  was  desired 
that  I  should  be  retained  among  them 
and  employed  to  win  others  over.  Each 
of  my  utterances  had  been  repeated,  and 
although  I  was  not  in  the  habit  of  saying 
much,  yet  all  that  had  escaped  me  to- 
gether with  the  evidence  of  the  moods 


146     -from  Shabcrw  to  Sunlight. 

that  had  possessed  me,  was  sufficient  for 
the  superiors  of  the  Order  to  deem  that 
my  health  was  to  be  strengthened,  my 
mind  braced,  and  a  very  generous  course 
of  treatment  accorded  to  me,  so  that  I 
might  again  take  my  place  among  men, 
and  work  for  the  greater  glory  of  God  in 
the  world.  I  was  to  be  an  instructor  of 
youths,  and  boys  do  not  like  a  severe 
ascetic  as  their  playmate  and  companion. 
My  director  therefore  encouraged  me  to 
eat  good  food,  and  lead  my  life  as  much  as 
possible  in  the  open  air,  and  to  live  much 
as  I  would  have  lived  had  I  remained  in 
the  house  of  a  country  gentleman.  This 
ultimately  restored  to  me  my  former 
strength,  and  was  perhaps  also  the  cause 
of  my  future  release  from  the  bonds  and 
meshes  they  had  cast  and  woven  around 
me.  For  a  long  while  I  worked  diligent- 
ly, I  endeavored  to  the  very  best  of  my 
power  to  subdue  any  rebellious  thoughts 
that  arose  in  me.  My  own  inclinations 


from  ShaboiD  ta  Sunlight.     147 

had  always  pointed  to  missionary  work, 
and  I  had  conceived  a  great  desire  to 
have  China  allotted  as  the  field  of  my 
labors.  But  I  was  told  such  was  not  my 
destination,  and  that  I  could  be  of  more 
use  at  home.  During  the  time  I  remained 
under  instruction  there  was  much  in  the 
teaching  I  received  that  was  repulsive 
to  me,  and  was,  I  thought,  against  the 
spirit  of  the  Founder  of  the  Order,  for 
whose  pure  and  gallant  life  I  retained  the 
greatest  veneration.  How  could  I,  for 
instance,  agree  that  the  maxim  of  one  of 
their  most  renowned  writers  was  consist- 
ent with  truth,  when  he  wrote :  '  If  a  man 
commit  a  crime,  reflecting  indeed,  but 
still  very  imperfectly  and  superficially, 
upon  the  wickedness  and  great  willfulness 
of  those  crimes,  however  heinous  may  be 
the  matter,  he  still  sins  but  lightly.  The 
reason  is  that  as  a  knowledge  of  the 
wickedness  is  necessary  to  constitute  the 
sin,  so  it  is  a  full  clear  knowledge  and 


148     from  Shoboro  to  Sunlight. 

reflection  necessary  to  constitute  a  hein- 
ous sin.  And  thus,  as  Vasquez  says,  in 
order  that  a  man  may  freely  sin,  it  is 
necessary  to  deliberate  whether  he  sins 
or  not.  But  he  fails  to  deliberate  upon 
the  moral  wickedness  of  it,  if  he  does  not 
reflect,  at  least  by  doubting  upon  it,  dur- 
ing the  act.  Therefore  he  does  not  sin 
until  he  reflects  upon  the  wickedness  of 
it.  It  is  certain  that  a  full  knowledge  is 
requisite  to  constitute  mortal  sin.' 

"  Was  not  this  maxim,  and  others  like 
it,  which  I  still  found  in  favor,  worthily 
denounced  by  that  pope  who  was  un- 
doubtedly poisoned  by  the  Jesuits  be- 
cause he  suppressed  their  order  in  Rome  ? 
What  said  this  pope — Ganganelli — as  late 
as  the  last  century  :  '  Further  concerning 
the  use  of  certain  maxims  which  the  Holy 
See  has  with  reason  prescribed  as  scanda- 
lous and  manifestly  contrary  to  good 
morals.'  Yet  it  was  by  these  lights  that 
I  was  commanded  to  walk,  for  in  course 


from  BhofcoBj  to  Sunlight.     149 

of  time  I  became  under  this  recommen- 
dation tutor  to  the  heir  of  another  family, 
situated  somewhat  like  my  own,  that  is 
having  a  good  estate,  which  was  to  de- 
volve upon  the  boy  placed  under  my  in- 
struction. I  was  here  gradually  pressed 
more  and  more  by  my  immediate  superior 
to  do  things  against  which  my  whole  soul 
revolted.  I  do  not  blame  the  general  of 
the  order  or  the  higher  authorities,  for  I 
believe  that  they  were  misled  by  false  re- 
ports coming  from  the  priest  whose  orders 
I  was  obliged  more  immediately  to  obey. 
But  I  perceived  after  a  time  that  this  man 
had  persuaded  himself  that  it  would  be 
within  the  bounds  of  possibility  for  his 
conscience  to  prevent  the  lad  from  marry- 
ing, and  knowing  that  he  would  have  ab- 
solute control  over  the  lad  and  goods,  for 
the  boy  had  been  born  after  the  date  of 
the  act  which  forbade  the  entail  of  land 
on  children  born  after  its  passage  through 
Parliament.  He  would  therefore  be  free 


iso     -from  0I)afo0to  to  Sunlight. 

to  do  what  he  chose  with  the  property, 
and  if  he  did  not  marry,  might  dispose  of 
it  '  to  the  greater  glory  of  God.'  It  may 
be  that  I  wronged  my  superior  in  fancy- 
ing that  to  be  his  object.  Whether  this 
be  so  or  not  I  suspected  that  it  was,  and 
wrote  to  him  a  violent  letter,  for  my  in- 
dignation was  aroused  by  the  base  sus- 
picion— a  suspicion  I  must  own — which 
was  based  on  very  slight  grounds.  The 
idea  was  indignantly  disowned  and  a  re- 
port sent  against  me  to  headquarters. 

"  My  old  headstrong  impulse  had  re- 
turned to  me  with  my  recovery  of  health, 
and  I  swore  aloud  that  I  would  no  longer 
submit.  The  very  terms  to  the  reply  of 
my  letter,  the  subtle  lies  as  I  thought 
them  to  be,  impressed  on  each  page  made 
my  passion  greater.  I  wrote  again  saying 
that  I  should  never  wear  again  '  the  livery 
of  my  moral  disgrace,'  as  I  called  my 
clerical  dress.  Without  a  word  to  the 
family  with  whom  I  was  living  I  left,  and 


from  SIjafcotD  la  Sunlight.     151 

changing  my  name  resided  for  some  time 
in  a  town  where  I  could  not  be  easily 
tracked,  even  if  any  one  had  cared  to  take 
the  trouble  to  follow  me,  which  was  by  no 
means  likely.  After  I  had  left,  a  reaction 
set  in,  and  I  half  regretted  my  passion 
and  the  course  it  had  led  me  to  take. 

"Loneliness  is  bad  for  man,  and  soli- 
tariness in  a  great  city  makes  loneliness 
feel  doubly  miserable.  I  could  not  ap- 
proach my  family.  They  had  given  me 
up  as  a  blacksheep  long  ago,  and  did  not 
wish  to  rearrange  the  partition  they 
fancied  they  could  make  of  our  estate. 
I  could  not  venture  near  any  of  the 
brethren  I  had  left,  for  I  should  be  re- 
ceived by  them  either  too  kindly  as 
willing  to  return,  or  not  at  all,  and 
treated  as  a  renegade  and  traitor.  Shame 
seemed  to  darken  round  me  on  every 
side,  and  yet  gradually  I  knew  that  I  had 
on  the  whole  been  right  in  what  I  had 
done,  although  I  may  have  done  what 


152     from  Shabotn  to  Sunlight. 

was  right  too  passionately  and  too  im- 
pulsively. A  longing  came  over  me  to 
see  again  the  country  of  my  birth  and 
boyhood.  I  found  friends  among  the 
tenants  of  the  estate,  and  lived  among 
them  for  a  month.  Then  I  escaped  from 
my  own  thoughts,  and  from  the  idleness 
that  made  them  get  more  bitter,  and  took 
passage  for  America.  There,  after  a 
year,  I  had  the  happiness  of  meeting  you 
and  your  daughter,  in  the  Chinese  theatre. 
Should  you  condemn  me,  I  shall  ask  you 
not  to  let  your  daughter  see  this  letter. 
Should  you,  on  the  whole,  approve  of  my 
conduct,  I  request  you  to  allow  her  to 
read  it,  for  her  good  opinion  has  become 
to  me  that  which  I  most  value  and  regard 
in  life." 

Mr.  Wincott  was  not  a  man  to  delib- 
erate too  long  on  any  question.  His 
opinion  was  gradually  formed  and  reso- 
lutely adhered  to,  and  the  opinion  he  had 


from  Shafcoto  to  Snniigljt.     153 

on  the  case  laid  before  him  in  the  letter 
was  accurately  expressed  when  he  closed 
its  perusal  and  said : 

"  Quite  right.  Better  late  than  never. 
He  might  have  imagined  the  set  of  that 
current  before  he  embarked  on  it.  I'll 
give  Mary  the  letter." 

That  young  lady  also  retired  to  her 
room  to  read  it,  and  her  prevalent  feeling 
was  expressed  when  she  concluded  in  the 
words  —  "What  a  horrid  shame!"  —  by 
which  she  doubtless  meant  that  Chisholm 
had  been  all  along  in  the  right,  and 
everybody  he  had  disagreed  with  had 
been  in  the  wrong.  He  pame  to  receive 
his  sentence  next  morning,  and  was 
unanimously  acquitted  by  the  judge  and 
jury.  He  certainly  would  never  have 
feared  another  earthly  tribunal  so  much 
as  he  did  that  of  the  Wincott  party, 
and  I  doubt  if  even  the  General  of  the 
Jesuits  could  have  infused  into  him  a 
tithe  of  the  fear  that  secretly  possessed 


i54     -from  Sljaooio  to  Sunlight. 

him  as  he  approached  the  door.  To 
judge  from  his  face,  when  he  left  the 
door,  the  grand  inquisition  within  had 
not  put  him  to  the  torture.  He  walked 
quite  straight,  and  was  firm  on  his  legs. 
A  smile  on  his  lips  and  a  light  in  his  eyes 
spoke  of  what  his  former  friends  would 
have  pronounced,  in  their  language — 
"justification  and  peace."  Not  many 
days  elapsed  before  he  had  declared  that 
he  could  not  face  the  criticism  of  the 
East  unless  he  had  Mary  to  exorcise  any 
evil  spirits  that  might  linger  around  him 
or  meet  him  in  the  world  he  had  left,  and 
she  had  vowed  to  defend  him  against 
devil  or  saint. 

"  Who  would  have  thought  that  I 
should  meet  my  fate  in  'Frisco,"  she 
laughingly  said,  "  and  at  the  hands  of  a 
man,  too,  who  had  never  seen  me  in  po- 
lite society,  and  appeared  for  the  first 
time  like  a1  Chinese  dragon  to  carry  me 
off  in  the  midst  of  flames  and  smoke  ?" 


jTrom  0hab0a  to  Btmlight.     155 

"  Ah,  but  I  saw  you  in  polite  society 
long  before  our  'Frisco  meeting,"  he  said. 

"  No — how  was  that  ?  Where  ? "  was 
the  natural  inquiry. 

"  Don't  you  remember  a  certain  visit 
paid  by  you  to  a  smuggler's  cave  in  Scot- 
land ? "  he  asked. 

"  Why,  yes ;  you  don't  mean  to  say  that 
you  were  the  ghost  we  saw  in  the  cave  ? " 

"  Yes ;  I  had  been  staying  in  the  farm- 
house, you  remember,  near  the  cave,  and 
had  asked  the  good  people  to  keep  quiet 
about  my  return  for  a  time  to  my  old 
haunts,  and  was  reading  one  day  in  that 
cavern,  which  I  dearly  loved  to  visit, 
when  you  and  your  party  entered,  and  I 
had  an  opportunity  to  see  you  sitting, 
and  eating,  and  talking,  and  never  forgot 
you  from  that  moment." 

"  No,  impossible ;  there  was  only  an 
old  man,  who  disappeared — an  old  man 
with  a  white  beard." 

He  laughed  and  said  : 


156     from  Sl)ob0u)  to  Sunlight. 

"What,  my  poor  old  book,  the  volume 
I  had  with  me  ?  There  was  no  white 
beard,  but  the  book  I  held  near  my  face 
may  have  seemed  like  one  in  the  dark, 
and  the  ledge  to  which  I  ascended  was 
hidden  from  your  candles,  so  that  you 
nevet  saw  me,  but  I  saw  you  well.  I 
was  at  one  moment  almost  tempted  to, 
join  you,  but  my  foolish  fear  of  being 
again  seen  by  people  who  might  talk 
about  me,  and  tell  many  who  would 
recognize  me,  prevented  me.  Besides,  I 
am  not  sorry,  for  I  was  perhaps  able  to 
make  a  better  impression  at  the  theatre 
than  I  could  have  hoped  to  do  even  in 
that  romantic  place." 

"  Well,  I  consider  you  took  a  base  ad- 
vantage of  us,"  said  Miss  Mary,  "but 
you  must  have  been  known  to  that  farm- 
er and  his  neighbors." 

"Yes,  but  they  kept  my  secret  in  all 
my  trouble.  I  never  disguised  myself, 
nor  did  I  ever  change  my  name." 


from  01) abort)  ta  Sunlight.     157 

"  Then  you  have  behaved  better  than 
I,  for  I  have  promised  you  to  change  my 
name,"  said  Mary. 

And  she  has  kept  her  promise,  and  now 
speaks  with  a  very  British  accent,  and 
has  a  property  that  she  and  her  husband 
sometimes  call  the  Smuggler's  Cave.  To 
this  the  reader  may  some  day  be  invited, 
and  if  he  makes  the  expedition  he  will 
see  the  ghost,  and  Mary  Chisholm,  who 
has  never  since  the  day  we  quoted  her 
as  using  the  expression  ever  again  said 
« that  she  felt  badly." 


THE    END. 


T 


D.  APPLETON  ft  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

'fE  GARDEN'S  STORY;  or,  Pleasures  and  Trials 
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•THE  FOLK-LORE  OF  PLANTS.    By  T.  F.  THIS- 
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LOWERS    AND     THEIR     PEDIGREES.       By 
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No  writer  treats  scientific  subjects  with  so  much  ease  and  charm  of  style 
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fascinating,  and  the  present  volume,  being  a  collection  of  various  papers, 
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gestive writer. 

'"Flowers  and  their  Pedigrees,'  by  Grant  Allen,  with  many  illustra- 
tions, is  not  merely  a  description  of  British  wild  flowers,  but  a  discussion 
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words,  a  scientific  study  of  the  migration  and  transformation  of  plants, 
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FLAG  TO  FLAG.  A  Woman's  Adventures 
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The  author  of  this  book  was  the  wife  of  a  planter  in  Louisiana,  and 
underwent  some  remarkable  experiences  in  the  first  part  of  the  war  ;  later 
in  Mexico,  many  vicissitudes  befell  her  ;  and  of  her  life  in  Cuba,  still  later, 
she  has  a  striking  and  unusual  story  to  tell. 

"  In  a  word,  the  book  is  an  account  of  personal  adventures  which  would 
be  called  extraordinary  did  not  one  remember  that  the  civil  war  must  have 
brought  similar  ones  to  many.  Her  hardships  are  endured  with  the  rarest 
pluck  and  good  humor,  and  her  shifty  way  of  meeting  difficulties  seems 
almost  to  point  to  a  Yankee  strain  in  her  blood."  —  The  Nation. 

J^ffE  HISTORY  OF  A  SLAVE.     By  H.  H.  JOHN- 
•"        STON,  author   of     "The    Kilimanjaro    Expedition,"   etc. 
With  47  full-page  Illustrations,  engraved  fac-simile  from  the 
author's  Drawings.     Large  izmo.     Paper  cover,  50  cents. 

"  '  The  History  of  a  Slave  '  is  a  work  of  fiction  based  upon  every-day 
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the  reader  the  social  condition  of  heathen  and  Mohammedan  Africa,  and 
the  horrors  of  a  domestic  slave-trade."  —  The  Athetueum. 


T 


IE  MEMOIRS  OF  AN  ARABIAN  PRINCESS. 
By  EMILY  RUETE,  nfe  Princess  of  Oman  and  Zanzibar. 
Translated  from  the  German.  I2mo.  Cloth,  75  cents. 

The  author  of  this  amusing  autobiography  is  half-sister  to  the  late  Sultan 
of  Zanzibar,  who  some  years  ago  married  a  German  merchant  and  settled 
at  Hamburg. 

"  A  remarkably  interesting  little  volume.  ...  As  a  picture  of  Oriental 
court  life,  and  manners  and  customs  in  the  Orient,  by  one  who  is  to  the 
manor  born,  the  book  is  prolific  in  entertainment  and  edification." — Boston 
Gazette. 

SKETCHES  FROM  MY  LIFE.    By  the  late  Admiral 
•^      HOBART  PASHA.   With  a  Portrait.    i2mo.    Paper,  50  cents ; 
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"  The  sailor  is  nearly  always  an  adventurous  and  enterprising  variety 
of  the  human  species,  and  Hobart  Pasha  was  about  as  fine  an  example  as 
one  could  wish  to  see.  .  .  .  The  sketches  of  South  American  life  are  full 
of  interest.  The  sport,  the  inevitable  entanglements  of  susceptible  middies 
with  beautiful  Spanish  girls  and  the  sometimes  disastrous  consequences, 
the  duels,  attempts  at  assassination,  and  other  adventures  anil  amusements, 
are  described  with  much  spirit.  .  .  .  The  sketches  abound  in  interesting 
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New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


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